


Warcraft: For Unto Us a Savior

by allen_bair



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 18:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 114,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16180427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allen_bair/pseuds/allen_bair
Summary: What if Jesus Christ had been born in a fantasy world like that of Warcraft? This novel takes the events of the Gospels and uses them as a template with original characters in the Warcraft world. Set mostly after the Legion War and woven around the canonical WoW events, a young woman acolyte of the Light gives birth to a son without a father. Years later, a young unknown man called Jeshua appears in the plaguelands healing not only the plague of undeath, but restoring the Forsaken to their humanity. Genn Greymane sees him as a threat to his plans for revenge against the warchief of the Horde. Sylvanas Windrunner sees him as a threat to her power over the Forsaken. Yet there are some few still who see him as the Holy Light's answer to a world on the verge of another senseless war. Author's Note: This was written prior to the release of "Before the Storm" by Christie Golden and did not intentionally take that material into account.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

Thirty-Five years ago...

 

The night was dark except for the oil lanterns which lit up the street lamps of Gilneas City. A seemingly perpetual cloud cover kept the starlight, or any light from the great white moon above from breaking through. A cold fog wound it’s way lazily through the city streets as a plain, unadorned coach with a fresh coat of brown paint, drawn by visibly tired black geldings rambled through the circuitous cobblestone streets past district upon district of row houses. Inside, a hoary headed, gray bearded, hooded figure in white robes trimmed with purple and gold that were covered with a thick gray woolen outer coat sat minding a bundle in his lap carefully as his attention drifted between the passing sights outside, and the actions of dubious morality he was about to take tonight. He pulled the edges of the outer coat tighter as the chill mists found ways into the vehicle.

 

He had gone over it again and again in his mind as he looked at his tiny charge, gently saying quiet prayers to the Holy Light in an effort to keep the little one asleep and comfortable in the otherwise jilting and bumpy late night ride from Lordaeron. It was the right thing to do. More than that, it was the only thing to do.

 

The baby, a little girl with reddish blond hair and sea green eyes like her mother, was only days old, and not even weened yet. A bottle of milk with a nipple, cloth diapers, and an extra blanket sat in a basket next to the elderly man in the event the babe woke and became hungry or needed “other services”. He had no experience with children himself, having chosen a different path than family, but did his best to care for her while she was briefly in his charge.

 

His heart ached a little for the child. It was not fair to her that she should grow up not knowing either her mother, or her lineage. He truly wished there had been a better solution, but he couldn’t think of one then or now.

 

His mind drifted back to the difficult confession he had received which had begun his journey with the babe he now held. It had been last spring, just after the final snowfall of the year in the great cathedral in the kingdom of Lordaeron’s capital. The princess herself had come to him privately as was her privilege due to her royal rank. At first he had noticed nothing particularly unusual about her appearance, but when she had told him her story he could not help but notice the slight enlargement of her stomach now showing through her expensive mageweave dress.

 

“No one can know, your grace! Especially not my brother or father!” Calia had pleaded with him a little over six months ago. “They will execute him!”

 

The princess of Lordaeron had been, and still remained, a promising student of his. But she was, after all, still a girl with all the inexperience with the world that brought. She was certainly no longer a child, but did not yet have the maturity of a woman. When she came to confess her transgression to him and beg for his help, he was disappointed in her to be sure. He himself had dedicated her to the Light after she was born, and had personally tutored her in the ways of the faith. She and her brother Arthas were, in many ways, like his own children, or a niece and nephew so to speak. They were like family to him.

 

And the princess had, like many girls her age, become entranced with a young man and it had gone too far. Under other circumstances, it might be an embarrassment to the family, but it wouldn’t be more than that. Unlike other girls her age, however, Calia _was_ the Princess of Lordaeron and second in line to the throne after her brother. And the young man who had so entranced her was a mere stable boy. _Gil_ , he remembered his name. All were equally cared for under the Light, but mortal society tended to see things with less equanimity. Royal politics being what they were between the great families, and with the devastating wars where the recent Orcish invasions demanded that the kingdoms of Azeroth be more united than ever, both the baby and its father suddenly became problems that could shatter alliances and doom kingdoms.

 

An adherent of the Shadow faith might have found a more “efficient” solution, but the high cleric served the Holy Light and it called him to all that was good and right. The “disappearance” of an innocent infant, even one no one knew existed, could never be justified before it.

 

For the last six months, the princess had been on a secluded “spiritual retreat” far from the fishbowl that was the capital of her father’s kingdom. It had been also been arranged for the stable boy to be quietly removed from the royal stables and sent to the small, fairly insignificant town of Corin’s Crossing far to the east where no one knew him and where no one would believe or care about his exploits. The baby was born in a small cottage in the woods quietly three days before, tended to by a trusted priestess of his order who would say nothing of the matter to anyone. Calia had been exhausted, but was otherwise fairing well when, knowing when she was due, he came to check on them both.

 

When he found them in the cottage, to her credit, Calia was nursing the babe herself and tending to her well. But the elder cleric could see the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. A child like this could not be hidden for long so long as she remained with her mother. After thinking it through for some time, he told her his plan. When he had finished explaining it, the princess looked relieved but saddened and he could see that she had already formed a bond with her daughter.

 

“I believe this is for the best for the both of you, and for Lordaeron, your highness.” Bishop Alonsus Faol had told her much earlier that day before setting out in the coach. “I have already contacted the bishop in Gilneas. Your daughter will be well cared for by the clerics at the Light’s Dawn Cathedral cloister in Gilneas City. No one will know where she came from, and no one will ask who her parents were. She will be raised to serve the Holy Light, and you will be able to continue with your responsibilities as Princess.”

 

Calia had nodded solemnly and sadly in response as she looked into her daughter’s face. She understood the terrible weight of her position and what that meant. Before she had handed the girl to him however, she said, “I want to name her first.”

 

“Of course.” He had responded.

 

“Miriam.” Calia had told him, a tear in her eye. “Her name is Miriam Menethil.”

 

“Miriam Menethil.” Alonsus mused at the name as the coach continued on its way towards the great spired temple to the Holy Light in the northwestern quadrant of the Gilnean capital. “I wonder what plans the Light has for you.”

 

* * *

 

Twenty years ago…

 

Miriam checked the heavy paper calendar pinned to the thick wooden support beam in the wall of the dining hall of the cloister several times that morning after finishing the breakfast dishes. The normally musty air in the hall still held the smell of the herbed eggs, coffee, and fried spice bread which had been on the tables. It intermingled with the scent of the aging wood of the sturdy long table and benches on which they took their meals.

 

“That can’t be right.” She said aloud to no one but herself.

 

At fifteen she knew her monthly times were fairly regular and, though rarely discussed among the women, in sync with the few other acolytes of her order with whom she shared chores and living space. She knew she should have started the bleeding the week before at the same time as Sister Margaret, her roommate, but there was nothing.

 

She was an athletically built young woman of medium stature with shoulder length, reddish blond hair tied back into a practical pony tail, and intelligent, thoughtful green eyes set above high cheekbones and pretty, delicate but regal features which might have been more at home on one of the few remaining high elves from Quel’Thalas than a human. Her acolyte’s robe was of a simple black woolen cloth with gold trim, signifying that she was a member of the Gilnean priesthood. The black was to remind her and her sisterhood that they were to die to themselves daily, and the gold thread signified their devotion to the Holy Light. The black was also practical. It kept the stains and normal wear from daily chores from showing as much.

 

The dining hall had been mostly empty after breakfast, the others having gone to their own business of chores, prayers, or study. There was only elder Sister Elizabeth who was finishing wiping down the table and preparing things for the next meal. She herself was almost overdue to meet Sister Veronica for her own instruction in contemplation and communion with the Light.

 

“That _can’t_ be right.” She said again, emphasizing the “can’t”.

 

_Am I ill?_ She wondered.

 

She didn’t feel unwell at all, but that didn’t always mean anything, she knew. There were many diseases and illnesses, she had been taught, that one might have where the afflicted might not feel anything for weeks or months. But if she had acquired an illness, from where had she gotten it?

 

Since she was a small baby, she hadn’t left the safety of the Cathedral quarter or grounds in the city. The tasks that had been assigned to her as she grew and prepared to take orders as a priestess of the Light had always kept her within the church’s protective embrace. Illness was a rarity among her sisterhood because of their communion with the Light and the healing abilities that communion brought. She knew it was always a possibility that she might contract something, just like it was for any other mortal. But if so, it was easily dealt with.

 

She remembered the simple purgative prayer that helped to maintain their health. She closed her eyes and reached within herself for the presence of the Holy Light. It had never been difficult for her to make such contact. The Light was warm, welcoming, and merciful. In some ways, throughout her relatively short life, the Light had always been there when she needed a mother or a father to comfort her.

 

“ _Purgo._ ” She said, placing her right hand on her chest.

 

She felt the light move within her, searching for anything impure or unholy to burn away. She felt somewhat refreshed after it had passed, but that was all.

 

“Sister Miriam, are you feeling unwell?” An aged, matronly voice asked from across the room.

 

Miriam turned to see Sister Elizabeth leaning over the table, washcloth in one hand, looking up at her with some concern in her eyes.

 

“I… I don’t know, Sister.” She replied honestly. There were few real secrets within the cloister, and many of the sisters acted as confessors for each other.

 

“Come here child.” The matronly woman responded kindly, returning her washcloth to the bucket of water which sat on the wooden floor, polished smooth from years of being trod upon. “Tell me what ails you.”

 

Miriam came over to the older woman who had taken a seat on the table bench and sat down next to her. As she did, she suddenly found it difficult to say what was concerning her. There was nothing unkind in the elder Sister’s expression, but she suddenly felt insecure and afraid. Sister Elizabeth reached over and took her young, supple hands into her own aged wet ones and held them.

 

“What is it child?” Sister Elizabeth asked. “You can tell me anything.”

 

That much was true. Miriam had confided many things to the septuagenarian woman as she had gotten to know her.

 

“I’m late, Sister.” She finally said. “And I don’t know why.”

 

“Late? Late for what?” Sister Elizabeth asked, confused.

 

Miriam struggled to explain. “My… womanly time is late.” She finally managed to say.

 

The older priestess’s eyes went wide. “Are you certain, child?”

 

“Yes.” Miriam responded. “Sister Margaret started hers a week ago. Mine should have started at the same time.”

 

Sister Elizabeth turned her eyes to look at the floor in thought. She then asked, “Have you been eating well? I know you to be devoted, child. Perhaps you have been fasting too much or working too hard? Sometimes that can interfere with or stop such things.”

 

“I...” Miriam thought about it, but then dismissed the idea. She had eaten just as much as anyone else at the breakfast table, or at any meal recently. “I don’t believe so. Not any more than Sister Margaret, I think, or anyone else.”

 

Sister Elizabeth then took a deep breath and sighed, letting it out slowly. With a gentle, but firm voice, she asked, “Tell me honestly, Miriam. Have you...” She paused for a minute as though trying to think of a tactful way of speaking. “Have you been with anyone recently? Any young man?”

 

“No!” Miriam protested over loudly. “Sister Elizabeth I would never… How could you even suggest that?”

 

“I’m sorry, child. But it isn’t as uncommon as you might think that some of our sisters might succumb to temptation once or twice in their lives. We are, after all, only human.” The older woman told her, a certain look of memory in her eyes.

 

“I swear to you, I haven’t been with anyone. I have never even left the Cathedral Quarter to see the rest of the city my entire life!” She maintained her innocence.

 

“Peace, child. I believe you.” Sister Elizabeth told her. “But this is concerning.”

 

“What should I do?” She asked, realizing then what conclusions others might come to as well.

 

“For now, nothing. Perhaps it is just late and it will start soon. Such things do happen. But as with all things, I believe your time today should be best spent in prayer. Perhaps you should make your way to the Cathedral and spend time before the altar. If you wish, I will make excuse for you with Sister Veronica.” She then squeezed her hands gently and said, “Perhaps the Light is trying to speak to you through this in some way.”

 

“Thank you, Sister.” Miriam told her. “I will, and I will try and hear what the will of the Holy Light may be in this.”

 

* * *

 

The Cathedral sanctuary was strangely empty later that morning. Usually there would be a few supplicants, or devoted laypersons seated in the wooden pews repeating their prayers or devotions. But that morning there was no one else as she approached past the antique bookcases lined with spiritual works near the entry, along the crimson carpet humbly and reverently. Above her, circular chandeliers provided a warm soft glow to add to the oil lamps which burned gently against the aged walls. The ancient, delicately carved wooden altar lay at the far end opposite the entry, elevated on the palance. Behind it, towering stained glass windows filtered the morning light into an otherworldly myriad of warm colors which descended on the sacred space. To either side, it was flanked by gilded, oil lit candelabras. Bright orange flowers in vases had been placed to either side of the altar, and on it’s surface, the _Tome of Divinity_ lay open to share its wisdom with all who would partake of it.

 

She herself would not dare to ascend to the altar itself, not yet having achieved the rank of priestess, but brought herself up short just before the steps that the Bishop and his attendants would normally ascend during services. It was there that she knelt in humility, closing her eyes, and focusing her attention on the presence of the Light within and around her.

 

She stayed like that for several minutes, quieting her mind as the light from the windows moved gently and slowly with the sun above. It soon began to surround her with its warmth and she felt comforted and at peace.

 

Except it shouldn’t have, she realized. The sun was rising, and with it the light should have receded from her back towards the windows and the rear walls of the sanctuary.

 

Her eyes came open to see what was causing it, and they were immediately caught by the awe inspiring radiant presence which hovered in front of the altar before her. It took her breath away as she gazed on the… she didn’t know what it was, but it was beautiful and otherworldly. It appeared to be here with her, and yet elsewhere on a different plane at the same time. A halo of pure light enveloped and surrounded the being whose form she could not make out.

 

“The Light be with you, Miriam!” The creature spoke to her, its voice sounding like beautiful music dancing in the air.

 

In fear at the creature and its greeting, she bowed lower on her knees, crossing her arms over her chest. And then she felt her fear bleeding away as encouragement and comfort replaced it in the radiance of the being’s presence.

 

“Don’t be afraid, blessed one. You have been chosen by the Light.”

 

For several seconds, Miriam couldn’t answer. She couldn’t speak. And then, meekly, she found her voice.

 

“Who are you, great one?” She asked in a whisper.

 

“I am Sha’at, and I have been sent to tell you great things.” The being replied.

 

“What things?” She asked.

 

“A great evil has been done to the people of this world. A great darkness has stolen the salvation and light from Azeroth’s children. The Holy Light has heard the prayers and cries of your people.”

 

“My people?” She asked, wondering what the being meant. She knew she was not Gilnean, that much was clear from her facial features. Other than that, having been orphaned before she was weened, she did not know what her ancestry was except that she was human.

 

Sha’at continued his message. “You have conceived a child, blessed one. This child will be the salvation of your people. He will redeem them from the darkness and death which have descended upon them.”

 

Fear bled back into her emotions as the import of the being’s message sank in.

 

“But that’s not possible!” She protested. “I haven’t been with anyone!”

 

“The Holy Light has brought this about through its own will.” Sha’at responded tenderly. “You are to be the mother of the Light’s own son.”

 

She reeled from the revelation as though she had been struck. She had always kept herself pure. She made her devotions sincerely and regularly. She always followed the instructions of her superiors. She had felt a special connection to the Holy Light from early on.

 

“But I’m just a...” She began to whisper, tears forming and then dropping from her eyes. “I don’t...”

 

What would her sisters say about her now? Would they even allow her to remain in the cloister? Would she be cast out? An exile? Homeless? Where would she go?

 

_Don’t be afraid._ The being’s exhortation floated to the forefront of her mind.

 

Her devotion had been to the Light. She had sworn herself to the service of the Light and to follow its will wherever it led. Now the Light was calling her to serve in a unique way. The Light would know what the consequences would be if she was to carry its child. The Light would guide her and see her through it.

 

She calmed herself, reaching out for the Light’s embrace once more.

 

“What do I name this child?” She asked, her voice more steady, filled with a responsibility she hadn’t expected just earlier that morning.

 

“Jeshua.” Sha’at replied. “Because he will restore salvation to his people.”

 

Miriam reflected on the name, and then nodded where she knelt.

 

“The will of the Light be done, great one.” She responded.

 

The being of light appeared to accept this. It even appeared to gesture in something like a slight bow. And then it was gone, and the Cathedral was empty once more except for herself, her thoughts, and her newly revealed unborn child.

 

She couldn’t move as she continued to kneel there, her thoughts racing as she attempted to comprehend the being’s message. Time seemed to just stop, and she could no longer discern its passage.

 

_I’m going to give birth._ The thought ran through her mind, and right behind it, Sha’at’s message. Over, and over, and over again.

 

“Miriam?” A matronly voice asked from behind her.

 

The voice brought her back into the present. How long had she been there? The light no longer shone on the altar as it had when she had entered.

 

She could hear the soft padded footsteps of the voice’s owner approaching her from behind slowly but steadily. A part of her meant to rise to greet her Sister, but the rest of her would not comply. Then she felt an aged but strong hand on her shoulder.

 

“Child, you missed the midday meal.” The older woman told her.

 

Miriam wanted to respond, but couldn’t. She then managed to raise her head and look at the face of her concerned elderly confidant. Tears had streaked the girl’s reddened face, and more threatened to cascade down her cheeks.

 

“Miriam, child. What has happened?” Came the voice of Sister Elizabeth, new fear rising in it.

 

“I...” She managed to say, and then stopped, unable to continue.

 

“You can tell me anything child, you know this.” Sister Elizabeth reminded her tenderly as she knelt down and pulled the younger woman into a gentle embrace.

 

_Can I? Can I really tell you this?_ She wondered at her.

 

Warmth began to flow from the older priestess into her. Warmth, and radiance meant to heal and comfort surrounded her in its embrace.

 

_The Light has chosen you._ The thought came unbidden as the older woman’s prayer enveloped her. But how could she explain it to her?

 

And then Sister Elizabeth gasped in surprise and drew back. Her mouth had fallen open as her hands rushed to cover it. Tears began to fall down her own cheeks as she looked in wonder at her younger Sister.

 

“Dear child!” Sister Elizabeth exclaimed.

 

“You know, don’t you?” Miriam finally managed to ask, but she already knew the answer. The look on Sister Elizabeth’s face said it all.

 

“I...” Her elder began to respond, and then seemed at a loss for words. After a pause, she said, “I… I felt it through the Light when I was praying for you. The Light revealed its will to me.”

 

Miriam nodded, and then dropped her head once more.

 

“Oh, child!” Sister Elizabeth embraced her then again fiercely and protectively. She kissed the top of her head as tears flowed freely between them. “The Light has chosen you, Miriam. The Light has chosen you.”

 

* * *

 

Nineteen years ago…

 

The air in the alien, Night Elf city of Darnassus was fresher than any she had breathed before. It was invigorating and scented with herbs and spiced woods. It was pleasant enough, but it still wasn’t home. That home was now gone forever, the teenage mother knew even as King Greymane addressed what was left of their people.

 

Miriam stood holding her infant son, barely three months old, among the other refugees from Gilneas within the huge hollowed out tree now called “The Howling Oak.” Her black acolyte’s robes were travel stained and tattered. Her feet were bare and scarred, her sandals along with all of her few other possessions having been left behind in a terrified hurry at the cloister in Gilneas City weeks ago. She possessed only what she wore, and what she carried.

 

She and her son had been among the the only survivors of the attack on Light’s Dawn Cathedral, themselves rescued by a courageous Gilnean soldier as first the feral worgen, and then the Forsaken armies overran the city. That soldier had taken an arrow to the back for his heroism not far outside the city. She still remembered his last words to her, “Don’t stop! Run to Keel Harbor! Don’t look back!” They had been burned into her mind even as she obeyed them.

 

She had never run as hard or as far as she had that day clutching her son in her arms. The simple cloth and leather sandals she wore tore off her feet, unable to withstand the pounding they were never meant for. Her feet bare and bleeding, she nearly dropped from exhaustion when another group of refugees spotted her on the road and took her in among themselves. At first their appearances had frightened her, but her total exhaustion took over as she nearly fell to the ground before strong, furry arms caught her and hefted her like a babe herself.

 

“Sarah, take the baby!” A rough, feral voice instructed someone she had not been able to make out.

 

“They’re still human!” Another masculine voice said. “They won’t have the strength to make it.”

 

“I’m not leaving the babe or its mother for those Forsaken bastards! You know what they’ll do to them!” The first voice had replied with a snarl, ending the discussion.

 

Another, more feminine pair of Worgen arms took her infant son from her grasp and cradled him protectively. These and the others like them became salvation for her and her son as they completed the journey she had started, carrying them to safety. These, once thought monsters in their own right, made sure she and her child boarded the Kal’dorei transports safe from the monstrous Horde invaders.

 

“You’re safe now, girl.” She remembered hearing a growly voice tell her. “You’re both safe.”

 

And so they had been. Even through the weeks long journey across the Great Sea in the overcrowded transports. There had been precious little food, and nowhere to wash for anyone. The storms at sea threatened to overwhelm the ships, and there had been times all on board thought they would be lost. Cold winds and freezing nights promised frostbite to those without protection as the vessels’ course carried them the northern route around the Maelstrom at the heart of the sea. But the ships continued their journey westward. In all, a little over a thousand people had been saved on the ships. Only a thousand out of tens of thousands. They and the other Gilneans that were already dispersed throughout the world through travel or business were all that were left of their nation.

 

She stood next to a black furred Worgen woman who listened intently, occasionally sniffing the air as she did. She wondered if that woman had been the “Sarah” who carried her son to the safety of the ships. She never learned the identity of their rescuers, or had a chance to thank them. Most of the Gilneans around her chose to wear their now true, lupine forms as a testament to the devil’s choice they made to keep themselves from succumbing to the undeath the Forsaken would force upon them. For whatever reason, the Forsaken couldn’t make use of Worgen bodies to add to their ranks.

 

Having spent weeks overhearing the events and decisions which led to those around her making this choice, she couldn’t say she didn’t understand why. The Gilneans were a proud people. They were angry at what the undead remnants of the northern kingdom had done to them, and they refused to allow their bodies to be desecrated in such a way should they die. It was even a choice she could respect, as difficult as it was to see so many of the once feared Worgen around her. She and her son owed their lives to them. But it was also a choice Miriam couldn’t, and wouldn’t bring herself to make either for herself, or her son.

 

Everything within her was repulsed against the idea of taking the worgen’s blood in any form no matter what protection or strength it might appear to give them. And then there was the urging of the Light. She could feel the Holy Light telling her insistently, _No, this isn’t for either of you_. But in so making that choice, the feeling within her grew that, even though no one had said anything of the kind, neither she nor her son belonged with the Gilneans any more. Even those few other survivors from the cloister had chosen out of pride and anger to accept the “gift”, and those that recognized her, she could see in their expressions, looked at her now as though an outsider.

 

Quietly, while Lord Crowley was speaking to them, she slipped from the crowd with her son, and made her way out of the hollow of the great tree until she could feel the warm sun above on her face and the soft grass beneath her bare feet. She stood there in the sunlight, taking it in.

 

There were few others around that she could see. The Howling Oak was situated on the east side of the city on something of a hill or rise. A babbling brook ran into it forming a pool of water at the base. From where she was at, she could see both carved wooden structures which appeared to be largely open to the elements, and a few great marble edifices lined with ivy wrapped columns. Directly to the west, across a bridge was a great tree which appeared to be shaped like a bear. In the distance, on the west side of the city she could see what she had been told was the Temple of the Moon, dedicated to the Night Elf goddess, Elune. It was a great domed marble and stone structure, so very different from the organic wooden ones she could see nearby. It had been built in the ancient Kal’dorei style, or so she had overheard from others of the refugees. The Night Elves themselves appeared however to be few and far between during the daylight, being a naturally nocturnal people, except the well armed sentinels which patrolled its roads and bridges. Those that she could see were easily a head taller than she, even among the most diminutive of them. They were an exotic, pretty people with their azure or lavender skin, visible fangs when they smiled, and upswept, long pointed ears. She felt an unkempt waif in comparison to them.

 

The city appeared beautiful to her eyes, like nothing she had ever seen before. But it was alien and strange to her. She knew she could never feel at home there. Never having left the Cathedral quarter in Gilneas before, she didn’t know if she could feel at home anywhere again. It was then that the loss began to overwhelm her and she sat down on the grass, her son in her arms.

 

She felt as though she had lost what family she knew; her home, and her nation were just gone. Those that remained she could no longer call her own people. All she had left were the tattered and dirty robes she now wore and her son. She didn’t know where to go, or what to do. She had lived her entire sixteen years in devotion to the Holy Light secluded in their convent, and it was all now just… gone.

 

Tears began to flow, and wouldn’t stop. The babe in her arms woke up and, sensing his mother’s distress began to cry. She didn’t know how to comfort him any more than she knew how to comfort herself, so she just held him to her breast and began to rock back and forth.

 

“Has the Light abandoned us?” She asked aloud in a whisper, closing her eyes. She said a silent prayer for help and guidance for them both.

 

A few minutes later, a kind human voice asked, “Are you okay, Miss?”

 

She opened her eyes to see a human man, maybe in his late forties, with a full salt and pepper beard. He wore a yellow flannel shirt and dark woolen breeches. His hands were calloused and rough like those of a man used to working with them. His brown eyes however were kind and his expression filled with paternal care.

 

“I...” She didn’t know how to answer him. “You’re human.” She finally said. “Like me.”

 

“Last time I checked.” He responded with a smile, the concern never leaving his eyes. He sat down on the grass next to her. “My name’s Jacob. Jacob Davidson that is. And yours?”

 

“Sis… Miriam.” She responded, consciously dropping her title. “Miriam Menethil.” Her order, after all, was gone.

 

“I’m a carpenter by trade. My son Joseph and I have been in Darnassus for the last couple of months trying to study the Kal’dorei’s wood crafting techniques. We make furniture in our shop back in Stormwind in the Eastern Kingdoms. We’re staying in the inn just up the road in the tradesman’s section of the city. We haven’t seen too many other humans since we got here either.” He told her.

 

She nodded, trying to dry her eyes on her sleeve.

 

“You’ve got a good looking boy there, Miriam. May I?” He asked, reaching out his strong hands.

 

At first Miriam was hesitant, but then she allowed the man to take him and hold Jeshua. The baby quieted down almost immediately in the man’s gentle embrace. “Looks like he likes me.”

 

Miriam managed a smile at that as she wiped her eyes. “Yes it does.” She replied.

 

“What’s his name?” He asked.

 

“Jeshua.” She replied.

 

“Jeshua,” Jacob repeated. “That’s a good name. Not too common though. Sounds northern. Where are you and Jeshua from, Miriam?” He asked, though she knew he must have already known the answer.

 

She answered anyway. “Gilneas.” She replied. “Gilneas City.”

 

“I see.” He said, appearing to be considering something intently. “You got any family, Miriam? Anyone to help you and the boy get back on your feet?”

 

Tears came to her eyes again as she answered, “No. There’s… no one left.”

 

“You got any place to go?” He asked directly.

 

“No. I don’t know where to go from here.” She admitted.

 

The older man paused for a moment. Then, appearing to have made up his mind he said, “Well, my son and I are due to be on the next ship back to Stormwind tomorrow. Why don’t you come with us?”

 

She looked at him in surprise, not believing what she had heard. “Really?” She asked. “But you don’t even know me or anything about us.”

 

“I know you’re a young woman with a baby and nowhere to go. I’m not as religious a man as I should be, but I listen to the priests enough to know that should be good enough for me. My wife Martha and I have an extra bedroom in the house, and I know she’d be happy to have you. The offer’s genuine if you want to take it.” He explained.

 

“Th.. thank you.” She said, gratitude filling her voice. “I… I thought the Light had abandoned us.”

 

“That’s another thing I’ve picked up on in my life, Miriam. The Light abandons no one.” He replied genuinely. “Bad things happen. People may choose to walk away from it when they do, but the Light never abandons anyone. Its always there for us to step out of the shadows and turn back to. A Paladin I used to know from years ago after the Second War taught me that. He was a good man.”

 

Jacob then stood up with the baby in one of his strong arms, and helped Miriam to her feet with the other. “Let me introduce you to my son, Joseph. He’s not that much older than you actually.”

 

Miriam still had trouble believing what was happening. After all that had happened, why should this stranger have just stepped in and offered her a home and another family? “I can’t thank you enough.”

 

He smiled again, “You don’t need to.” Then, appearing to try and make a joke he asked, “So, do you and the baby sprout fur and fangs too, then? Not that it’s a bad thing, I mean.”

 

“No.” She almost laughed in spite of herself at the man’s awkward attempt. “No, we don’t.”

 

“Well, that’s kind of a relief. It’ll be one less thing to have to explain to Martha.” He replied.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Seven years ago…

The sun was setting in the western sky over the ocean beyond the blue tiled rooftops and white stone and stucco of the Trade District of Stormwind City. Towards the southwestern sky, the clouds which passed in front of the ruins of the huge fel green world known as Argus which had just appeared in the sky over a year before began to reflect the orange and gold rays of the impending twilight. Most of the shopkeepers and businessmen were just finishing counting the day’s receipts. The only business which still had its doors open, and would for most of the night was Allison’s small inn, “The Gilded Rose”. Not far from the city gates, Allison kept her doors open most of the night for those travelers who found themselves in the city after hours but too tired to press further in.

Among those in the cobblestone streets that evening was a strawberry blond woman nearing thirty wearing a plain white linen dress with blue apron who appeared to be looking frantically for something or someone as she questioned people along the street.

The question she asked the shopkeepers and bystanders was, “Have you seen my son, Jeshua?”

Her husband’s family had maintained a furniture shop in the city’s trade district for years, Davidson’s Furniture. She herself had lived with the family with her infant son until she and their son, Joseph, had married ten years ago and they moved out of the city and into a small house with a few garden plots and a workshop closer to the small village of Goldshire a couple of hours outside of the city walls. It was the last day of the week, and the family was getting ready to go home, and not return to the city until the day after next for services at the Cathedral of Light. 

“Sorry, Miriam.” Answered Edna Mullby as she and her husband were closing up their shop on the main entry road for the day. “I haven’t seen your boy all day, but do say hello to the rest of your family for me would you?”

“I will, Edna, when I find him.” she replied. “The cart’s packed and Joseph and the other children are ready to go. I don’t understand where he’s gotten to. He knows we have to leave while there’s still light out. It’s not like him.”

That much was very true. Jeshua was generally a very thoughtful, kind boy. He often worked with his adopted father in his workshop and tried to help his mother with his younger siblings as well as his own chores. He always seemed to have a deep empathy for everyone he met, as though he already knew their hurts and fears and felt them himself. It might not have been as much of a problem to leave the city after dark, but she and her husband had heard reports of a resurgence in bandit attacks along the road south. The Westguard Barracks in Elwynn Forest had stepped up their patrols, but it still wasn’t wise for them to tarry much longer.

“I wish I could help, dear.” Edna replied sincerely.

Then her husband, Thurman spoke up as he locked the door to his shop. “Have you checked the Cathedral? The boy always seemed to have a bent towards that direction to me. Maybe he’s there.”

“Maybe. That’s a good idea. Thank you, Thurman.” She told him, and then hurried off towards the great spired temple which rested as the heart of the capital of the human kingdom.

Miriam found herself having some mixed emotions at looking for him in the Cathedral. She and her family attended services there in devotion to the Holy Light every week. It was the closest she would feel to the “home” she grew up in, but it always brought painful memories as well, and occasionally nightmares of fires and Worgen grasping her and her son. And there was always the feeling of loss which accompanied her visits to where she could not stay for long.

She loved her life with Joseph and Jeshua in Elwynn to be sure. It had been salvation for her and her son after the cataclysm which tore apart their world twelve years before. Joseph and his family were generous and kind people, and she sought to repay that kindness to them in any way she could. But they did not know her entire past, and to their credit, they had never asked. Not once. Joseph himself had never asked who Jeshua’s father was or what might have happened to him. She didn’t know why, but she loved him all the more for it. Maybe he thought he died in Gilneas. Maybe he assumed it was too painful a subject. He would have been right on the latter point if he had.

She rushed as quickly as she could through the narrow city streets and out into the canals which separated the districts of the city and provided sanitation and an extra means of security to its inhabitants. After having been destroyed and rebuilt decades ago during the first and second war with the Horde, the city had been designed to be as impregnable as possible to any invading force. Each district of the city had its own defensive walls and fortifications inside the thick, main city walls which surrounded the metropolis of hundreds of thousands of people from all over Azeroth. She passed many, many human residents to be sure, but also Night Elves, High Elves, Dwarves, and the even more alien Draenei who lived and worked sheltered within its walls. A Pandaren monk passed her as well, his wide furry body resembling a stuffed brown and white teddy bear in exotic robes, though she would never express that image publicly.

There were even a few Worgen she knew that occasionally came into her family’s shop looking for tables, chairs, or wardrobes. She didn’t know why, she owed her and Jeshua’s life to worgen rescuers, but she always tensed when they did, and struggled to be kind and polite. Fortunately, they either didn’t notice, or were polite enough themselves to say nothing about it. A few however had commented on her accented Common which still bore traces of her Gilnean upbringing. When they did, she attempted to brush it off as tactfully as she could without offending them. She wasn’t ashamed of where she came from, but there were memories that were too painful for her to bring up.

She crossed the bridge which led to the entry portal for the Cathedral district. To the west, the sun continued to set. She passed by a brown haired human boy of maybe ten years old chasing a girl around the same age who was waving a toy gorilla in the air as though taunting him while she ran. “Give it back!” The boy cried out after her. She vaguely knew the girl. She thought her name was Donna. She might have been the daughter of an armor merchant not far from her husband’s shop, or was it the innkeeper at the Pig and Whistle? She thought the boy might have been her brother, but she wasn’t certain.

Jeshua never plays like that, she thought. And then that thought itself struck her as odd. He was a boy, not much older than those two, but he never played like that with his younger brothers and sister even when they teased him first. It was like he couldn’t bring himself to retaliate even when they wanted to be cruel, which was thankfully rare. Joseph was a good father and disciplined them well, though not harshly so.

You know whose son he is. It wasn’t so much a thought as a feeling which intruded on her thoughts as she continued quickly across Cathedral Square, the great temple to the Light itself towering over her, the orange and gold light of the waning sun reflecting off of its white spires causing them to appear as though aflame and awash in the Light its priests professed to serve. It was beautiful to her, and reopened old hurts every time she saw it.

That feeling reopened those wounds even more. The truth was, while she had never forgotten (how could she?), she had tried very hard to not think about the circumstances of Jeshua’s birth. While her Sisters had graciously not expelled her from their order, at least not until the baby was born and weaned, they never spoke to her in the same way again. They never looked at her the same. And she could never bring herself to reveal the truth of his siring to anyone but Sister Elizabeth and the Mother Superior Helena to whom her duty required her to be honest. The Mother Superior never said whether or not she believed her, but Miriam always felt from that day forward as though she was unwelcome in her presence. Her only real friend and confidant had become Sister Elizabeth who stayed with her unwaveringly throughout her pregnancy.

Another bittersweet memory. Sister Elizabeth had been lost in the Cathedral attack along with most of the others.

Miriam had never told her son who had sired him, and as she reflected on it unwillingly, he had never asked. She then realized that she had just assumed he thought Joseph was his natural father and no one had bothered to correct that assumption, although in truth anyone who looked at Joseph and then looked at Jeshua would know that wasn’t possible. The boy looked nothing like him, and only had a passing resemblance to his younger brothers and sister. Jeshua was many things, but slow-witted was not one of them.

In truth, Jeshua was almost a mirror image, a reflection of his mother but with stronger, more masculine features. Like her, his hair had grown into a strawberry blond, and his eyes were an intelligent and thoughtful sea green. His face was handsome, and one might almost say resembled that of a High Elf, as much as any human might that is. One man, an older royal courtier from Stormwind Keep who had come into the shop one time while her son was there remarked out of hand how much he, and she for that matter, resembled Arthas or Calia Menethil, the former prince and princess of the fallen kingdom of Lordaeron far to the north, though he awkwardly apologized at the comparison, realizing the painful connotations, and quickly changed the conversation after that.

She scanned the large Cathedral Square for her son. The large stone fountain at the center memorializing the great Paladin hero, Uther the Lightbringer continued to bubble and flow gently, the sound of its waters adding to the relaxed, calming, quiet feel of the church’s own district within the city. Here and there along the pathways, next to carefully landscaped trees, or on the steps of the Cathedral were a few priests and acolytes in their white robes with gold trim sitting or standing, discussing points of faith or philosophy which she herself might have discussed with her Sisters once upon a time. She heard children’s voices off to her right and headed over to the wide row house she knew to be Stormwind’s orphanage. There were a few boys and girls, all of them human at the moment though she knew the matron would welcome a child of any race into her home.

“Have any of you seen a boy named Jeshua?” She asked upon approaching a boy and a girl playing with a ball together.

The boy stopped for a minute, holding the ball. He scratched his head and then said, “I saw a kid go into the Cathedral with Brother Kristoff. He had the same color of hair as yours.”

“Thank you!” Miriam told him profusely, bending down and kissing him on the cheek. She then reached into her pocket for a few silver coins which she handed to him quickly before hurrying off again. Behind her she heard the boy call out, “You didn’t need to do that! Thanks, lady!”

Miriam rushed from the front of the Orphanage across the square and up the sapphire blue carpeted steps of the Cathedral. Priests and acolytes that she passed glanced briefly at the attractive woman, wondering what might have caused her to be in such a rush, but no one attempted to stop her. All were welcome in the Cathedral.

She passed through the massive carved double doors of the Cathedral which seemed to stand open and ready to welcome seekers no matter the time of day or night. Coming around the entry hall she emerged into the great vaulted and columned sanctuary of the temple. Immediately, the sense of the sacred fell upon her as she entered and she was almost forced, involuntarily to slow down and pace herself, entering the great church meditatively and reverently. 

Unlike the Cathedral in Gilneas, there were no pews here. Instead, a few benches lined the sides of the sanctuary here and there. Weekly services were celebrated standing up or kneeling as the case may have been during the liturgies. It was a slight denominational difference between the church in Stormwind and the church in Gilneas, but not one which affected much. Along the columns had been positioned tall candle stands which provided some illumination to the sacred space. Opposite the entryway, as in the church she grew up in, on a raised dais led up to by royal blue carpeted steps was a polished wooden altar upon which lay a great book, a copy of the Tome of Divinity used during services.

At the foot of the steps leading up to the altar was seated a small, informal gathering of men and women in the white robes of the clergy appearing to be in a deep discussion. At first, after seeing them, she had meant to turn and check the side chapel, thinking her son might be there, but then she spied Jeshua’s all too familiar short cut strawberry blond locks which so much resembled her own. He was seated on a bottom step in the middle of the older clergy.

What is going on? She wondered as she discreetly crossed the sanctuary and approached the altar space.

As she drew closer she could see five members of the clergy surrounding Jeshua. And then to her amazement, she realized that one of them was High Priestess Laurena herself. Another was Bishop Farthing who had pastoral care of the outlying towns and villages of the kingdom in Elwynn Forest, the town of Lakeshire, and what was left of the settlements in Westfall and Darkshire after the great cataclysm. This was no mere gathering of a few simple clergy.

Then, another boy she recognized, Thomas who often acted as an altar boy during the services passed by her. He had brown skin and orangish brown hair and wore a simple white shirt and shorts underneath a green vest. She stopped him and asked what was happening, pointing towards her son and the elders of the church.

“Oh, they’ve been talking like that for the past hour I think.” Thomas replied. “Maybe longer.”

“What are they talking about?” She asked.

“I’m not sure to be honest, ma’am.” Thomas replied. “I heard something about the nature of the Light and the Void, and healing, and why we should make peace with the Horde, and something about the Forsaken and why they can’t be healed like other illnesses.”

“The High Priestess and Bishop themselves are answering his questions? They’re tutoring him?” She asked, a sense of pride in her son rising that the highest clergy would take such an interest in him.

“I guess so, but it didn’t really sound like they were teaching him.” Thomas replied.

“What do you mean?” She asked, her pride turning into sudden sense of dread.

“Well, maybe I’m wrong but it kind of sounded like he was teaching them. I don’t know, really. I was just finishing polishing the lamp stands. I need to go to supper now.” Thomas told her.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Thomas.” She replied, trying to think through how she wanted to approach her son, remembering the waning daylight outside.

She walked up to the gathering, not quite sure how to feel or what to say to politely scold her son for making her search the whole city and risk traveling after dark. She quietly drew up behind the clergy who were still in serious discussion.

“Oh, hi Mom!” Jeshua suddenly said cheerfully upon seeing her, not apparently aware of the time.

The elder clergy turned abruptly and looked at her, and suddenly she could feel her face blushing at the new attention.

“You’re Jeshua’s mother?” A balding cleric with sandy blond hair and beard spoke up.

“Yes.” She responded.

“You have quite the remarkable boy here.” He replied. “You’ve taught him so well, the questions he’s been asking and the ideas he has… I must say some of us who have studied for years are having trouble keeping up.”

Miriam felt horrified then that her son had caused so much trouble. “I’m so terribly sorry, your graces for his disturbing you!” She apologized profusely, then to her son she said in a scolding voice, “Jeshua, it’s late and the sun’s almost down. You come with me right this instant. You were supposed to be back at the shop hours ago.”

The boy looked hurt and somewhat confused at the scolding, but he stood up and joined his mother, taking her hand.

“Sorry? For what?” The High Priestess spoke up as she stood up from where she sat. “Your son has a brilliant, if somewhat unorthodox theological mind. This conversation has been refreshing to say the least. He is always welcome here.”

“Well...” Jeshua’s mother didn’t know what to say in response. “I...”

“Absolutely.” Bishop Farthing added. “In fact, he’s almost of age to begin an apprenticeship isn’t he? When it’s more convenient, I’d like to speak with you about his entering the priesthood here as an acolyte.”

A priest? My son a priest? Her emotions became confused and scattered within her. “I… We’ll certainly discuss it, your grace, but really we must be going.”

“Of course. We’ll see you both at services then?” He asked.

“Yes, of course, day after tomorrow.” She replied. Then she said to her son, “Come along, Jeshua. You have explaining to do to your father and I.” Miriam then squeezed his hand and turned towards the entrance to the sanctuary.

When they were in the entry foyer, Miriam didn’t stop but continued to scold him while she hurried with him. Outside, streaks of twilight lit up the sky as the sun had already touched the sea to the west.

“Why didn’t you come to the shop at closing time like you knew you were supposed to, Jeshua? This isn’t like you. What happened? I’ve been searching the whole city for you, and your brothers and sister are getting hungry. We may not even be able to travel now without risking being stopped on the road. What happened?” Miriam demanded to know.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I really am.” Jeshua replied sincerely. “I really thought you’d know where I was, and Brother Kristoff and I got to talking and I just lost track of time.”

“How could I have possibly known where you were, Jeshua Davidson? You didn’t tell me where you were going.” She responded incredulously. He wasn’t usually nearly this irresponsible.

“I thought you’d know I’d be in my sire’s house.” He answered her, the sincerity never leaving his voice.

Miriam went from a full stride across the Cathedral Square to a dead stop next to the fountain and statue of Uther. It was as though she had hit a wall, and felt like it too.

“What did you say?” She asked, looking directly at him.

“I… I thought you’d know where I was.” Jeshua replied timidly.

“Not that. You thought I’d know you’d be in whose house?” She asked point blank.

“In my sire’s house.” He responded, almost whispering.

“How…?” She began to ask, forgetting the disappearing light herself as a civil servant came around and began lighting the oil streetlamps for the night. But she couldn’t bring herself to finish the question.

Jeshua’s face seemed hurt and confused, but also concerned for his mother too.

“I’ve always known, Mom. I don’t know how, I just always have. I know a lot of things I know I shouldn’t be able to. Like I know the Bishop and High Priestess are trying to be good people and do the right things, but they’ve allowed their own hurt and anger to cloud their communion with the Light. They say they want justice and that the Light wants justice to be done for places like Southshore and Hillsbrad in the far north, but I know what they really want is revenge against the undead people there. The Light wants to bring healing to those people and places, not destroy them. To redeem, not purge. I feel this inside of me so much that sometimes it hurts.” Jeshua told her plainly.

Miriam stared at her son as though she had never met him before, even as his words sank into her mind and heart. She didn’t know what to say to him, or how to even address what he was saying.

“It’s okay, we’ve got to get going.” Jeshua said, tugging at his mother’s hand. “Father’s going to be angry with me and we’re probably going to have to stay with Grandpa Jacob tonight.”

Then they began walking again, this time the mother being led by the son instead.

* * *

Later that evening, as the children were put to bed in what had been Miriam’s old room upstairs in her in-laws’ row house in the Trade District, Joseph and Miriam sat on the bed in what had been his old room across the hall. In the corner sat a very simple, but well made desk which had been one of his first wood crafting projects when he was a boy around Jeshua’s age. The bed frame too had been his handy work not long afterwards. Every piece of furniture in the small room had his signature on it and he had been proud of his accomplishments, encouraged and instructed by his own father.

Much to hers and Jeshua’s surprise, Joseph appeared disappointed, but not really angry with the boy. It was true he had wanted to get home and sleep in his own bed. But, the truth was, it was so unlike the boy, he was just relieved that the kid was safe and unharmed. He had spent two hours worrying that Jeshua had wandered down the wrong alley by mistake, wandering if the Stormwind patrols would show up to have him identify the body of his adopted son.

When he broached the subject after Miriam had closed the door and come to sit on the four poster bed next to him he said with a chuckle, “Actually, I’m kind of relieved that this happened. It restores my faith in the maxim that no one’s perfect.”

That brought a slight but weary smile to Miriam’s mouth. Then she said, “It terrified me. He’d never done that before.”

She hadn’t told him all of what had been said on their walk back from the Cathedral, and neither had Jeshua. It was something she was still struggling to comprehend herself even as it brought back with stunning clarity the revelation which she had received thirteen years before in another Cathedral so very far away.

“He’s a boy on the verge of manhood, Miriam. All of us men do dumb, irresponsible things at that age, even when we’re not trying to.” He replied. “It just means he’s one hundred percent human after all. I can’t be angry with him for that.”

“Even you?” She asked, poking him. “What ‘dumb things’ did you do that you haven’t told me about?”

“You mean how many times did I make a fool of myself trying to impress a girl or show my Dad how grown up I was? I’m not saying. I don’t want you to lose all respect for me.” He responded playfully. And then more seriously he said, “It scared me too. I didn’t want to lose him either. Whether he’s mine or not, he’s still my son and he always will be.”

Miriam became silent for a moment, grateful for his words and for the man who said them. She then drew closer to him on the bed until her leg touched his and she wrapped her left arm around his right.

“You never asked me about his father.” She then said quietly. “Why?”

Surprised at the question, Joseph’s mind went blank for a few seconds while she waited for an answer. He thought quickly, bringing back all of his reasons and questions and which ones outweighed the others.

He then took her hand and placed it into his and replied, “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. When you never brought it up, I thought maybe it hurt too much to talk about and I didn’t want to cause you more pain by making you remember.”

She considered this and leaned into his shoulder resting her head upon it. “Thank you.” She said.

“You know what that just reminded me of though?” He then asked when she said no more about it.

When she shook her head, he continued. “Remember that one time when those mages showed up on Dad’s doorstep totally confused? It was a year after you came to stay with us and I was still this nervous kid trying to figure out how to ask you to marry me.”

Mages? She asked herself. And then the memory began to come back to her. How did I forget?

“The little Gnomes with the white beards and purple robes.” She replied. “Though I think there was one that was a gnome woman.”

“Yeah, and the Elf and I think there were a couple of old human men there too, but the one who spoke the most was the Gnome. What did he say his name was? Do you remember?”

She tried, but it wouldn’t come to her. What did come to her was a memory of the purple robed magicians arguing when her future father-in-law had opened the door after someone had knocked on it. They all wore the mage’s golden emblem of the all-seeing eye. It had been in the evening after the shop had closed up. She shook her head.

“Fuzzle… No. Wait, Fizzle… That’s right, it was Fizzlespark. And the other one there said her name was Chromie, I think. They said they were looking for a royal prince that had been born the year before. Remember?”

She did remember as it all came back to her. The leader of the group had been a pale skinned, balding gnome with full, long white beard that had grown past his belt line. When Jacob had opened the door, the Gnome, Fizzlespark had just been saying something like, “I told you Andrus, the compass is never wrong. The baby has to be here.” He had been addressing the High Elf mage who was shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yes, and it wasn’t wrong either when it pointed us to Gilneas in the middle of the Worgen crisis and Forsaken war, was it?” The High Elf responded with no little sarcasm. “We portaled there and just barely had enough time to escape before we were numbered among the casualties.”

“Can I help you?” The human carpenter asked them, a confused but bemused look on his face as he addressed the gnome mage.

“Yes, you can, kind sir. My name is Chromie, and we were led to--” The pretty little Gnome woman had said, trying to be as polite and professional as she could in spite of her colleagues. Dressed differently from her companions, she had golden blond hair tied up into two buns and wore a white robe with a black stole draped around her neck tied close with a belt made from fine cloth. On her chest was a tiny bronze breastplate, crafted especially for her, and bronzed shoulder guards adorned either side of her collar.

Then the Gnome man interjected before she could continue, “Name’s Fizzlespark. Where’s the baby prince, human? I know you’ve got him in there.”

“Baby prince?” Jacob responded in confusion. “I think you’ve got the wrong house, Master Mage. My family and I are just a bunch of carpenters.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him.” The High Elf replied. “We should be looking in Stormwind Keep or Silvermoon City if anywhere for a royal birth to celebrate.”

“I told you the compass is never wrong! If it says the thing we’re looking for is here, than it is.” The Gnome fired back insistently.

Jacob politely tried to stifle a chuckle as he replied, “No offense, but I have to agree with the Elf, friend. We’re just simple folk here.”

Miriam had been in the sitting room near the door just finishing nursing Jeshua when Jacob had answered it. Wondering what all the commotion was about she came up behind him to see the strange sight holding Jeshua in her arms.

“Sir,” The Gnome woman, clearly frustrated at the lack of professionalism displayed by the male members of her party, tried again, “If I may ask, is there a one year old baby in your house?”

“Well… I mean, yes there is, but I wouldn’t...” Jacob answered, not sure exactly what to say.

“What’s happening, Jacob?” Miriam had asked the older man, who had been quickly becoming like a father to her.

And then the Gnomish woman saw her, and appeared to lock eyes with her and Miriam couldn’t take hers away from the tiny lady’s own golden bronze ones. It was like looking into the eternity of time itself, and she felt as if her own life’s story had been laid out bare in front of the woman from beginning to end and she could keep no secrets from her. And then somehow Miriam knew the Gnome knew things about her that she didn’t know herself.

The Gnomish woman nearly let out a yelp of surprise as she covered her face with her hands. “Oh my gosh!” She exclaimed.

“What?” The Gnome asked, zeroing in on her reaction. “What’d you see, woman?”

“I...” The Gnomish woman didn’t seem to know what to say, but she exchanged glances with Miriam and an understanding seemed to pass between them that even Miriam hadn’t fully understood.

The apparently older Gnome, the High Elf, and the two human mages all glanced back and forth between Chromie and the girl who had appeared behind the middle aged human tradesman. And then as the carpenter shifted positions, they all saw the blond haired baby, no more than a year old, sleeping peacefully in her arms.

“There, we found a baby! It’s even about the right age, are you convinced yet?” Fizzlespark scolded the Elf.

Then the Elf appeared to study the features of the young woman intently, as did the human mages. “You look familiar, child.” He addressed her with a very serious tone. “What is your name and your lineage?”

“Um… Miriam.” She responded, unsure of what they were looking for. “I was an orphan. I don’t really know who my parents were.” She answered honestly.

“Please, sir.” The one who called herself Chromie had asked Jacob. “May we come in and speak more with the girl, and see the baby? We promise, we won’t cause any more trouble to your household.”

Chromie then glared at Fizzlespark with murderous intent. The Gnomish man suddenly went silent, his eyes cast towards the ground.

“Well, uh, if it’s okay with you, Miriam, I’ve no objection.” Jacob replied, still not sure of what was actually happening.

Miriam nodded, and made her way to return to the sitting room, as Jacob called out, “Martha, put some tea on, and bring some snacks. We’ve got visitors!”. 

It was then that Joseph had joined them, coming down from his room upstairs. 

“What’s all the commotion?” He had asked, and then he saw their new guests entering the house and didn’t know what to say after that.

As the retinue of mages passed by him, offering their greetings, he had overheard the two human mages whispering the one to the other, “I don’t know how, but she has to be.”

To which the other responded, “She’s the spitting image of her isn’t she? It’s been so long, but I still remember the Princess.”

Thinking back to that day, Joseph told her what he had heard the mages say as they sat there on his old bed holding hands. “They said you looked like a Princess they had known.”

“I don’t know why.” She told him. “I’ve never been called a Princess before.”

“I always thought of you as one, the moment I saw you.” He confessed to her, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing it. “It had gotten me wondering though about your past, and I started trying to do a little digging myself where and when I could.”

This was news to her. “You did?” She asked, sitting up. “You never told me that.”

“Well, just because I never asked you about your past doesn’t mean I wasn’t curious. I knew your last name was Menethil, and it sounded really familiar so I got permission to use the library in Stormwind Keep, and asked around a little. Did you know that the King of Lordaeron’s family name was Menethil too? Terenas Menethil the Second. At least it was before his son, the last heir anyone knew of killed him and created the scourge and the undead now up there where Lordaeron used to be.”

“Maybe it was a common name in the north.” She said, trying to brush it off, not wanting to think of the implications.”

“Maybe.” He conceded. “But I also looked at a bunch of old paintings of the royal family in Lordaeron too. At first, I have to admit, I was kind of shocked when I saw them.”

“Why?” She asked, a pit forming in her stomach.

“Because you looked a lot like them. You’ve got a lot of the same features.” He replied. “I’m kind of surprised you’ve never seen any of them yourself where you grew up.”

“I grew up in a convent in Gilneas City.” She then revealed to him. “I had never left the Cathedral Quarter before the evacuation.”

He then sat up a bit, surprised by the little bit of history about herself she gave when she never talked about her past. And then he considered what she was telling him. If she had grown up in the convent, then she had been training for the priesthood herself. He found himself wanting to know more about his wife and her son.

But rather than push it too far he quipped instead, “Doesn’t matter. You’ll always be a princess to me. Actually, I was glad for the mages coming. If they hadn’t given you and Jeshua the gold they did as a present, we never could have bought the property that we did. I’m not even sure we could have afforded to get married. That was a blessing from the Light that was.”

“Yes,” she considered his words, “It was, wasn’t it?”


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Seven years ago…

The summer day was bright and clear that afternoon and the air was warm and a bit humid. Sunlight streamed through the light canopy of trees around the small, two story house. Its blue painted shingles appeared a bit worn, and somewhat in need of repair, but they still kept out the rains which would come and go in Elwynn Forest. The white stucco which wove in between the heavy wooden support beams of the house was now more of a tan from age and weathering. A gray brown brick chimney poked out from the roof of the house with only a few cracks here and there, though fortunately none extended down where the chimney descended into the house. The house had been built long before Joseph Davidson and his family took possession of it, and it seemed a permanent, ongoing competition against the forest and the elements to keep it the warm and livable home it had become for them.

Out in front and to the side of the house were gardens, alternately growing both herbs and vegetables which Miriam Davidson maintained along with her children when they would help her. Wandering around the house, though not straying far from their coop for the wolves deeper into the forest, were chickens which pecked at the ground. In the rear of the house was a sizable workshop where her husband brought the wood he obtained, some from the forest around the house, but mostly from the Eastvale logging camp in the east of the province to which he would make weekly trips to obtain new cords and boards for his projects.

Jeshua sat near the edge of the front garden on an old wooden crate which had been turned upside down for that purpose. He appeared to be staring at something in the forest, although his eyes weren’t fixed on any one point. Joseph had gone into town alone that morning to work in the shop. He had invited the boy to go with him, but Jeshua had politely declined saying he had wanted to stay at home with his mother and siblings.

It hadn’t been the first time in the last few months he had done so. Since the incident in the Cathedral several months before, Jeshua had become more withdrawn, and noticeably more pensive, and had only agreed to travel into Stormwind again when the entire family was going for Church services. And when he did go into the city otherwise, he studiously avoided the Cathedral, choosing instead to either help Joseph in the shop or spend time by himself sitting on a bench in Lion’s Rest, the memorial to Stormwind’s fallen king, Varian Wrynn, who sacrificed himself to save his people on the battlefields of the Broken Isles to the far north. His mother would often find him there, seemingly staring out past the statue to the Great Sea beyond it.

It was a strange and sudden turn of behavior for an otherwise normally friendly boy who had been invited by the bishops of Stormwind themselves to apprentice with them. It was also one that grew increasingly concerning to his parents with each passing week. Joseph believed that it was just his age, and that he’d talk about it when he was ready, but Miriam wasn’t so certain.

As Miriam watched her son from the kitchen window of the house, she decided that she would finally have a talk with him. She was the only other person in the world who knew the truth of how he came to be, and possibly the only other person who might understand what he was wrestling with. She wanted to know what was happening within him and how she could help, or if she could.

She put down the knife she had been using to pare the potatoes she had intended to use in the stew she was cooking for the family’s supper. She still had loaves of spiced bread baking in the oven attached to the chimney, and the smell of the bread and the spices filled the kitchen. Nearby, hung a sizable hen which she had just decapitated some minutes before. The bird’s headless carcass was still draining into a bucket and waited to be plucked.

Miriam wiped her hands on her already stained cooking apron and moved through the house to step outside and speak with her son. She was wearing the simple gray dress she wore most days she stayed home to focus on chores and keeping the house. Her feet were shod with sturdy but well worn, comfortable leather sandals.

Once again he appeared to be just staring at something in the distance, his green eyes unfocused. He wore a pair of simple, undyed linen breeches tied off with a leather belt, and a similarly undyed linen shirt. His feet were bare and dirty from the moist garden soil as he had dug his toes into it while he sat.

Miriam looked and found another crate against the wall of the house. She picked it up and set it down next to him, upside down where she then parked herself. At first she said nothing, but gazed in the direction he was staring, wondering if there was anything in particular that he was looking at. Deeper into the forest, she knew, there were packs of wolves, and near the lake a band of the odd looking fish people known as murlocs. Today she saw nothing but the trees, grasses, and gently rolling landscape.

“What are you looking at, Jeshua?” She asked gently. “You’ve been sitting out here for over an hour.”

Jeshua then seemed to stir a little, and began to blink his eyes quickly as though he had been mildly startled. “Oh, hi Mom. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. Did you need help with something?” He said as he turned to face her.

Miriam’s concern grew and she replied, “The question is, do you need help with something, Jeshua? You’ve been pretty withdrawn since that day in the Cathedral. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

His expression changed a bit as he replied, “No… I… um, I’ve just been thinking a lot that’s all.”

“Bishop Farthing is still expecting an answer from you. You know he hopes to start you as an acolyte in the Cathedral after your birthday in the fall.” She prodded him, wondering if that was a part of it. “It’s a great honor, Jeshua. The clergy superiors don’t offer to personally teach just anyone.”

“I know it is, Mom.” He replied, but his voice fell, and his eyes became distant again. Miriam could hear the “but” in his tone, even when he didn’t say it.

So she did. “But?”

“It’s not what my sire wants.” He told her quietly.

“What?” She asked, not certain if she heard him correctly.

“It’s not what the Light wants for me. I can feel the Light telling me that’s not my path.” He told her honestly. “I know it’s what everyone else expects, that is, if I don’t join Joseph in becoming a woodworker. But every time I consider it, I feel this resounding “No!” inside of me and I know it’s my sire speaking to me.”

Miriam considered this carefully. The truth was, she herself had steadily ignored his inclinations towards the ministry of the church until that day a few months ago. She hadn’t wanted to see them before. She realized on that day, however, that it had been mostly because of her own pain and loss and afterwards had tried to put that aside to do what was best for Jeshua. Now, she felt that effort had been turned completely upside down.

The truth was, she had no idea what his future might be, and his words were a rude interruption to her illusions that this boy, knowing how he was conceived, had been intended for anything which could have been considered “normal”. And she found that lack of “normalcy” in his future frightening.

“Then what do you believe the Light wants for you, Jeshua?” She asked, trying to conceal the nervousness at what he might answer.

Jeshua looked at her as though he had been considering the answer to that question very, very carefully for a long time. And then a resoluteness crossed over his features, like he had come to a final decision right there. “There are things I need to learn, but I can’t learn them here or from the clergy in Stormwind. They try to do the right thing, but there’s too much anger and hatred that clouds their eyes to the will of the Light.”

She then asked what appeared to be the logical question, “Then where do you need to go to learn them?”

His expression changed to one of sadness as he said, “I’m not certain. I just know I can’t learn them here.” And then he said. “I have to go, Mom. I have to leave here.”

“Well, when you’re a little older perhaps...” She answered, not understanding.

“No, Mom. I have to leave now.” He responded.

And fear filled his mother’s heart at his words. “Go? Where? You’re only twelve years old, Jeshua, and the world is too dangerous a place for you yet! The war against the Legion is still raging in the north, the plague of undeath is still out there, there are bandits and kidnappers on the roads, and there are Horde monsters out there who would tear you apart just for the fun of it!”

A deeper sorrow filled his green eyes, which at that moment seemed far more mature than they should have been for a boy his age. “I have to put my fate in the hands of the Light, and let the Holy Light take me where it will. I can’t stay here.”

Tears welled up in Miriam’s eyes, and she wanted desperately to say she forbade it. But she found she couldn’t. Instead an insane, unnatural peace welling up within her fighting the panic which had gripped her even as the tears began to fall, “But why? Why do you need to leave me?”

“My sire’s calling me, and I have to go.” He replied. “It’s the reason why I was born.”

You know he speaks the truth, Miriam. The message came through as a strong feeling within her that she wanted to ignore.

“To finish destroying my world?” She asked, losing what filters she may have possessed, an anger at the Light itself rising within her raging against the flood of calm that competed with it. “To finish what it began twelve years ago?”

He looked into her eyes calmly and with a seemingly endless amount of compassion he replied, “No mom. Not to destroy the world, but to save it.”

“To save it?” She asked in confusion as the tears streamed down her cheeks. “This world has so many problems bigger than all of us! We’re constantly at war with people who would exterminate us! Gods and monsters fight against our very existence every day! How could you save it, Jeshua? You’re just a boy!”

“I’m not sure yet, but I know now without any doubt this is the path I have to walk.” He told her, standing up from his crate. “There is a path for us and I have to find it.”

What, now? Right now? She looked at him, panic welling up within her alongside the anger and the peaceful calm which tried to overwhelm them as she realized what was happening. “You haven’t even eaten supper yet! You don’t have a coat, or even shoes on!” She protested with the first things that came to her mind.

Miriam stood up from hers as he began to walk to the edge of the property towards the road. “Please don’t go.” She almost begged him, grabbing his hand to hold it in her own.

He stopped and then turned to look at her once more as though it might be the last time he saw his mother’s face. “I have to, Mom. I have to be wholly in the Light’s hands now. I have to follow its will no matter where it leads me. I love you, Mom. I know you don’t understand now, but it’s because I love you, and father, and everyone that I’m doing this.”

His mother’s mouth hung open but no words came out. The struggle within her became an all out war as she collapsed to her knees sobbing. A sense of powerlessness overtook her, and still that invasive peace which she wanted to rage against was insistent, gently so even as it was firm. Inside, she could hear her younger son, Jimmy’s, voice calling out for her. Her two year old daughter, Sarah, who had been down for a nap began to cry as well.

“My brother and sister need you, Mom.” Jeshua told her. “You need to go to them.”

“I...” She still couldn’t speak or say the things she wanted to, but inside her the pain and the hurt subsided almost against her will. She realized she didn’t want to let go of them any more than she wanted to let go of him. Being Jeshua’s mother had been such a huge part of her identity, that she was losing a part of herself that she didn’t want to lose.

Jimmy called out again from the house, “Momma! Where are you? Sarah’s crying!”

“It’s the Light’s will, Mom.” Jeshua told her again, gently. “It’s time to let go.”

He didn’t say “let me go”. He said, “let go.” And she knew that, somehow, he knew what was happening within her. Somehow he was feeling what she was feeling inside, sharing it with her as he always had in some way. He knew how hard this was for her, and then, looking into his own boyish eyes, almost identical to her own, she knew it was just as hard for him, but he was still doing it.

He is Lightborn. She thought. And the Light has called him back to itself. She had known, somewhere within her that she couldn’t keep him forever, and as she faced letting him go she admitted the truth of his words to herself, and allowed herself to accept them. Her other children needed her, even as Jeshua’s fate was no longer in her hands.

“The Light’s will be done.” She finally said, reaffirming the choice she had made over twelve years before, and then she gave in, bitterly at first, but she surrendered nonetheless. When she did, the peace that fought so hard to soothe her overwhelmed her inner being and drowned the anger and pain like a voracious wave.

He then kissed his mother’s hand, and let it go, walking down the pathway towards the road.

* * *

Jeshua wandered back and forth on the packed gravel and dirt road it seemed like for hours. Overhead, the sun was dipping towards the west, and the shadows around him were lengthening and growing significantly. The truth was he hadn’t actually been anywhere he could remember except for the house, Goldshire, and Stormwind. He knew that he needed to leave and put himself at the mercy of the Light, but in truth, that was all he knew about what he was doing. Barefoot, and only wearing the shirt and pants he left with, he had no money, no direction, and no real idea of where to go except to continue on the road. 

It would have been wiser in some ways had he at least gotten his shoes and a few other things to take with him. But the urgency of the Light within him had insisted he leave right then, leaving everything else behind. And the thought of having to leave his brothers and sister behind hurt just as much as having to see the pain in his mother’s eyes when he told her he was leaving. It was hard enough with his mother. Having to see his younger siblings would make it next to impossible he knew. He would have wanted to stay and say good bye to Joseph as well, and then it would have only gotten harder to leave after that as they all continued to try and talk him out of it.

He hadn’t turned north for Stormwind. The thought to go there had first occurred to him because that was where the docks and ships were and maybe he was supposed to hire himself out as a cabin boy on a ship in exchange for passage elsewhere. That was also where the underground tram to Ironforge in the cold mountains north of Elwynn Forest was. He sensed a deep calling north within himself, and the tram seemed like the easiest way to accomplish that. But somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to head back to the capital city of the Alliance. And so he turned south for a ways, but then when the familiar outline of the Lion’s Pride Inn in Goldshire came into view, that didn’t feel right either.

Turning around and around, he tried to understand which way he was being guided.

Into the forest. He felt more than heard within himself.

He looked in the direction of the thick trees. He had always been careful to avoid getting caught in the forest by himself, listening to his parents’ admonitions to keep himself safe. His mother had been right, there were real dangers even here in Elwynn, and in truth, the unknown things hiding in the shadows beyond the road did frighten him.

Just then he looked back down the road he had come, and in the direction of the home he grew up in. All he needed to do was just head home and apologize to his mother for what he put her through. It would have been hard he knew, but it would also be the safest option. His mother may have been right, after all. He could wait until he was a little older and then set out again. That would be wiser, wouldn’t it?

But it wasn’t what the Light which had sired him wanted.

Into the forest. A sense of urgency came with the feeling this time, like he needed to be somewhere at a certain time, and he was just stalling.

“Light give me courage and guidance.” He whispered a prayer, wanting to obey but afraid to.

And then his legs began to move towards the thick brush of the forest ahead of him, and the shadows that lay within. A sense of purpose filled him as he stepped off the road and crossed into the unknown. Soon, he lost sight of the road behind him, and found himself not exactly knowing which way to go. The sense of guidance he had received had left him and he found himself just standing in the middle of the forest, the light around him fading quickly. And then he heard a branch snap nearby, and fallen leaves rustle on the ground.

“Well look what we have here, eh, Cletus?” A man’s voice said nearby. “You get lost kid?”

Jeshua turned towards it to see two men wearing red bandanas over their faces and sweat stained, ripped white shirts. One with dirty blond hair held a lantern while the other with long greasy black hair held a long, wicked looking knife. The eyes he could see did not look kind, but had a dangerous and cruel look about them.

“Look at him Clive, he ain’t got nothing on him worth taking.” The one carrying the lantern responded. “Just some farmer’s kid out too late. He don’t even have shoes on! Not even worth the bother!”

“Oh I disagree, Cletus.” The one with the knife replied, edging closer to Jeshua. “I know a Goblin feller down in Booty Bay who’d pay more than a few gold pieces for a good looking boy like him.”

“Why’d he want a skinny kid like that?” Cletus asked.

“I don’t ask, and neither should you so long as his gold is good.” Clive responded evilly.

Jeshua froze for a space of two heartbeats, and then his own survival instincts took over and he bolted, running as fast as he could in the direction away from the two would be kidnappers.

“Aw, come on, get after him!” Clive told the other man and the two gave chase, running after him through the darkening woods. Cletus’ lantern bobbed and shook like a wisp through the forest as they did.

Jeshua didn’t, couldn’t think as he ran except that he had to get away. Only one other thought came into his mind, Why did the Light lead me to those men? Does it want me to get killed? He didn’t understand, and that he didn’t understand scared his twelve year old mind even more.

Jeshua ran hard trying to lose his pursuers, in between trees, over roots and dodging low hanging branches. In the distance, he could hear a wolf’s howl and his mind began to wander if his parents would somehow find his torn body eaten by the timber wolves known to roam the forest.

You’re right where you need to be. The gentle, calm voice within him told him.

He looked back behind him as he ran to see where the bandits chasing him might be and how close. When he did he tripped over a rock on the ground and went flying forward. The next thing he knew he was hitting a soft wall of black and white fur. In total surprise, he bounced off of whatever he had hit and landed on his backside on the dirt beneath him.

Looking up, he saw a teddy bear like face filled with surprise and confusion, but with kind, intelligent eyes. Wisps of a salt and pepper mustache and beard flowed from the creature’s upper lip and chin, and it wore a simple, well worn leather vest, and leather breeches holding its sizable girth tied with a deep black belt emblazoned with an exotic symbol. A round, wide brimmed conical hat made of straw adorned the crown of the creature’s head, and a simple but sturdy wooden staff was held firmly in its right hand.

Jeshua recognized the creature as one of the few Pandarens he had seen in the city upon his visits, though he had never actually met one or spoken to one personally. The Pandaren extended a clawed, furry paw to the boy to help him to his feet, which Jeshua took.

“Help me, please!” Jeshua begged him. “There are men after me in the forest!”

“I see.” The Pandaren said, his eyes going to the darkness of the forest. They immediately zeroed in on the bobbing lantern which was drawing closer and closer. “And why are they chasing you, little one?”

“I got lost in the forest when they found me. One of them wants to sell me to someone!” He told him as the run took its toll on his breathing.

“Do they indeed?” The Pandaren replied, his expression changing only slightly. A determined, but calm look passing over his features. His grip became tighter on his staff, and he shifted his bare, black and white furred feet into a more balanced stance.

The men in the forest grew closer until they reached the Pandaren, behind whom Jeshua had positioned himself. “Hey look, Cletus! It’s one of them Furbolg people I heard about! I bet the Goblin would pay extra for him, or at least his hide. Look at the size of him!”

“Turn around and walk away.” The Pandaren warned them in no uncertain terms. “This boy is not yours to take.”

“Is that so, fur-face?” Clive replied, brandishing his knife. “What’re you gonna do, hit me with your stick?” He laughed, and Cletus laughed with him. “Sit on us with your fat behind?” The two bandits laughed even harder.

Then the strangest thing occurred as the Pandaren smiled and laughed along with them. “Yes, you know, I just might.” His own laugh became rich and deep, and the two bandits own laughter began to die down nervously.

“I don’t think the kid’s worth it, Clive. The teddy bear don’t look scared.” Cletus told him.

“Aw… Give me the kid, furball!” Clive demanded, and then lunged with his knife at the Pandaren’s wide belly.

And then a blur of black and white fur flashed between them.

“AARRGH!!! MY HAND!!!” Clive yelled out.

Faster than the eye could see, the knife disappeared from Clive’s hand and he found himself twisting in mid air only to land hard on the ground in front of the furry stranger. The Pandaren held Clive’s knife loosely by the blade in his left paw, examining it. 

When Clive’s form hit the ground, Cletus’s panicked form took off running back into the forest, leaving his partner in the dirt. He never looked back to see what happened next.

“Your technique is flawed, my friend.” The Pandaren told the bandit. “And your blade, I’m afraid to say, is of poor workmanship. I hope you didn’t pay much for it.” Then he tossed it casually into the dirt next to the man. “I know of an excellent master whom you could speak with if you are so inclined.”

“What the--” Clive moaned as he got up off the ground as quickly as he could.

“Please friend, let us end this now without any more pain.” The Pandaren told him. “You have what is yours. Please leave the boy alone.”

Anger and disbelief passed in front of Clive’s eyes at the being in front of him. His good arm then moved faster than one would have thought, grabbed the knife and then hurled it at the Pandaren’s barely protected chest.

Thwack!

The next thing Clive saw was his knife embedded in the top half of the Pandaren’s narrow staff, the creature himself unscathed, and apparently unphased.

“WHAT ARE YOU?!!” Clive yelled out in disbelief and not a little fear.

“I am only a simple monk, friend, but that is the second time you have tried to harm me. I do not suggest a third. Please, return to where you came from.” The Pandaren told him firmly, but calmly.

Once more, the Pandaren pulled the knife from his staff, and tossed it in the dirt next to his would be murderer. “Go.” He repeated.

Clive took the knife once more, and for a minute, looked like he intended to use it again. But then he stopped and reconsidered. Perhaps he wasn’t the brightest bandit in Elwynn Forest, but in that moment he demonstrated that he wasn’t the dullest either. Taking his knife and putting it back into its sheath on his belt, he turned and ran back into the forest, only looking back once.

Then the Pandaren monk straightened up, and bowed politely in the direction which the bandit had gone. He then turned towards the boy behind him who looked at him with a kind of awe and wide eyes.

“I do not think the men will be troubling you any further tonight. I am called Monk Guozhi. I am a student of the Mistweaver discipline. Please, allow me to escort you home, young one.” He told the boy kindly but firmly.

“I…” Jeshua started to say, but found he couldn’t speak for a few seconds. Then, finding his voice, he asked, “You could have killed him, couldn’t you have?”

“Yes, but there was no need. Taking the life of anyone diminishes everyone, and is an act that should never be done without serious thought or need. These men were suffering enough from how lost in the darkness they were. Alive they still have a chance to change their ways and seek redemption. I would not take that possibility from them.” The Pandaren replied. “Where do you live, please?”

“I… I can’t go home.” Jeshua told him, remembering what had brought him out there.

“Oh, and why ever not?” Guozhi asked, concerned. “Are your parents unkind or cruel to you?”

“No.” Jeshua answered honestly. “It’s not that.”

“Tell me honestly then. I will not judge. Did you do something you shouldn’t have? I remember what it was like to be a boy back in my own village in Pandaria many years ago. I did many things I was not proud of.” He said with a genuine, but knowing smile.

“My family would want me to walk a path I can’t.” Jeshua told him. “They would want me to train in the Cathedral in Stormwind.”

“Becoming a priest is an honorable vocation.” Guozhi replied. “I have just come from Northshire Abbey to study the sacred texts of your people, and I have met many good men and women devoted to the religion of the Holy Light. Why can you not walk this path, young one? I sense no shadow with you.”

Jeshua sought to answer him honestly, but himself didn’t know what or how much to say. Finally, after several seconds of the gentle monk waiting for an answer, he told him the same thing he told his mother, “They try to be good people, but their eyes are clouded by the anger and hatred they feel for the Horde. They can’t really see what the will of the Light is, that it wants to embrace everyone as its children, and not just those of their own race or political views. I can’t stay and learn from them. The Light is leading me elsewhere.”

Guozhi studied the boy for about a minute after that, his wise eyes taking in every detail as he considered the boy’s words. Finally, he responded, “I have seen this myself, young one, and I believe you to be correct. It is unusual to find such insight in one of your age among your people. However, you will not get far on your own without resources, or someone to guide you. What is your name?”

“Jeshua.” The boy responded. “Jeshua Davidson.”

“If you would like, you may come with me, Jeshua Davidson. I too seek to understand different paths to try and find the beauty and balance in many different teachings. Perhaps the spirits have brought us together at just this moment that we might learn from each other. You may travel and study with me, and I will write a letter to your parents to let them know you are safe and will be well cared for if you wish.” The Pandaren offered. 

“Where are you traveling to?” Jeshua asked, though he felt a great peace and relief at the Pandaren’s generous offer.

“I travel many places, but I have been away from home for some time, and I wish to return to Pandaria for a while. There is a portal master in Stormwind who might help me do so. You may travel with me there if you would like. We have many great works and spiritual masters who would be happy to share their wisdom with you, and to learn from you as well I believe. I had intended to rest in Goldshire tonight, and then set out for Stormwind in the morning. You are welcome to join me.”

Jeshua considered his offer carefully. Pandaria was far, far from home. It was another continent far to the southern rim of the Great Sea and not easily reachable by either sea going vessel or airship. But the feeling within him kept telling him that it was where he needed to go for now.

“I think I’m supposed to go with you.” Jeshua then told him. “If that’s really okay.”

The great Pandaren then made a fist and pressed it against his other hand and bowed to the boy saying, “It will be a privilege to travel with you, honorable Jeshua.”

Jeshua returned the gesture, replying in kind, “And with you, honorable Guozhi.”


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Present Day…

The fierce light of the sun above him beat down on his head hard and relentlessly that late morning. The heat had seeped slowly through the simple linen rag he had tied around it as a head covering until it was doubtful there was any benefit to it at all. Every step he took, his bare feet, hard with thick callouses and scarring to where he might as well have been wearing leather shoes after all, felt heavy and cumbersome. The irony was not lost on him that he, born of the Light itself, might die from too much exposure to it.

He had been searching near the clefts and dusty tan rock outcroppings for some shade or shelter he could rest and sleep in or under during the soon to be noon heat of the wasteland, but so far he had come up with nothing since the previous night’s travels. His meager water skin which had been one of the few provisions he had carried on his long trek had already run dry, and he saw no bodies of water, and no friendly outposts in which to refill it.

Water itself had been scarce since leaving the water rich fishing town of Lakeshire at the foothills of the Redridge Mountains to the south. Food had been non-existent. The Alliance town had been the last friendly settlement he had seen for… how long had it been? A week? Two weeks? Longer? He had lost count.

The hellish, volcanic landscape he had traversed through had been controlled by the Blackrock clan of Orcs and what few remaining Dark Iron Dwarves that still clung to the beliefs of the fallen Twilight’s Hammer Cult. How they managed to survive and even thrive in this land was a mystery to him. Both groups, he knew, would attack a human, virtually any human, on sight. There had also been the dragonkin, Ogres, and earth elementals which wandered the barren wastes to avoid. There was a good reason it had been told him that no sane person of any race attempted travel north through the route he had taken if they could help it, and certainly not barefoot and with hardly any provisions.

It was a road to suicide.

But this is the route my sire wanted me to travel. It was the truth, as uncomfortable as it was. He felt no peace about any other path but this one, and the Holy Light would not grant him any other direction.

It was a familiar form of guidance to him that he had become accustomed to over the past seven years, beginning with the bandits and his Pandaren rescuer. The Light rarely, if ever, sent him down the easy path, but in so doing, he had been taught to rely on his sire all the more, and his own faith and relationship with the Light had grown in the process. His journey now through what was known as “The Badlands” was not unusual in this regard.

The Light had taken him from the gentle rolling hills and farmland of the Valley of the Four Winds in Pandaria, to the monasteries in Kun-Lai. The great towering mountains of Pandaria which were arguably the highest in all of Azeroth. He found, however, that could not stay there for long either. Instead, he found himself drawn after two years to Dalaran which still hovered over the Broken Isles, several years after the Burning Legion’s defeat, and the disappearance of the shattered world of Argus from Azeroth’s skyline. As a young man of only fourteen or fifteen years, he had seen the horrors of the aftermath of the demonic wars firsthand. It was there that he discovered, and then lent his natural talent for healing to those soldiers in the Armies of Legionfall still mopping up the remaining Legion hold outs. The Light had led him to tend to the injuries of both Sindorei and Draenei, Orc and Dwarf, Paladin and Warlock it made no difference to him even as they sometimes hurled profanities at one another, and sometimes at him as they disparaged his youth and lack of experience. In spite of it all, he could feel the great compassion and peace of his sire flowing through him and into all those he sought healing for, and the Light never failed to respond to his call no matter the injury or the individual.

The Light had always provided, not what he thought he needed in the moment, but what he actually needed. And so there were times in his travels he would be able to work for a meal or coins doing simple woodworking he had learned from Joseph. There were others, when a kind person might have, unasked, taken pity on him and invited him to share a meal in an inn, or their home. Still, there were others where he went without physical sustenance, and, though his stomach rumbled, it was in those times that he found himself relying on the will and the strength of the Holy Light more than ever to sustain himself and keep going. It became a food that no one else but he knew about. What coin he earned or was given, when not spent on his own needs often found its way into the hands of another beggar like himself freely given. 

He had, weeks before, maybe even a month before, returned to Stormwind by way of ship from Rut'theran Village at the base of the great Night Elven shaped tree Teldrassil. Teldrassil was the home of the Kal'dorei, and high in its branches was harbored a growing landscape of lush forest and ponds, and their wondrous capital, Darnassus. It had been Jeshua's final stop before returning home. He knew that this was the first place his mother and he came after the fall of Gilneas, and it had been something of a pilgrimage for him to see the place where his mother and adopted father first met. There also, as he did in the other parts of Azeroth he had visited, he sought to learn from and understand the Night Elves’ philosophy, and their understanding of the Light and its relationship to their goddess Elune. 

But the more he heard, the more he felt compelled to correct what internally he knew to be misunderstandings and deviations from what his sire taught him was the truth.

“You claim to honor and worship Elune, but you do not heed her voice or follow her teachings.” He had told the group of Kal’dorei with whom he had spoken. He felt no need at the moment to challenge the worship of their goddess, even though he knew she was something else entirely, in service to the Light herself. It would have been a pointless addition to his argument. “She doesn’t cause harm, or return evil for evil. Instead, wherever she goes she brings peace, and calm to the fighting as the Light itself wills. How is taking up arms and slaying your enemies following her ways? How does hunting and persecuting Orcs and Tauren, or even your own kin the Quel'dorei and Sin'dorei, simply because of their race reflect her will and teachings?”

There had been several who appeared to listen and even nod their heads in agreement as he had continued, “The will of the Light is to love those who would be your enemies, and do good to them. To heal both friend and foe alike, and so remove the dividing line between them. The Light cares for both Elf and Orc alike.”

But there had been many more there who sought to silence him, especially among the sentinels and the priesthood. 

“You know nothing of what you speak, human!” A priestess had shouted at him. “You haven’t seen anyone die at their hands. You didn’t lose friends or family when those monsters bombed Thal’Darah!”

“And what about Gilneas?” A worgen woman who had come to listen spoke up. “Should we just forget with those undead bastards did to us? What that banshee elf bitch Sylvanas did to Prince Liam years ago? How dare you suggest such a thing!”

In truth, he had recently seen the crater that had once been Thal’Darah in his travels through the Stonetalon mountains before making his way to Darnassus itself. What had been a great center of learning and school for Night Elves of the Druid discipline. It was not long after he had also seen the remains of a once proud Tauren village on a clifftop not far from it, bloodstains from some atrocity still visible in the dirt and splattered on the ruined wood of the structures. There had been two sides to that story, and though he did not know both of them for certain, he knew within himself that it had not been so black and white as the pain of those who disagreed with him lead them to believe. Few conflicts ever were.

A shouting match had begun between those who agreed with him, and those who ardently did not, though it hadn’t been his intention. He had been sitting discussing these things with them on a wooden fishing dock within sight of the Temple of the Moon. More priestesses became involved, and then sentinels had been called, and he had then been asked to leave the city not long after. He was told in no uncertain terms his ideas were not welcome among the Night Elves in Darnassus.

Upon returning to Stormwind, he stayed in the city only briefly, no more than a few hours. Wearing only simple clothes; a pair of undyed linen breeches with belt, a similar shirt, and a woolen robe to cover himself with to keep out the chill, he looked like any other homeless pauper which might have found their way into the metropolis. His strawberry blond hair had been allowed to grow past his shoulders, though he always kept it tied back neatly in a relatively tight braid. His beard of the same color had grown in full across his chin, cheeks and upper lip. But his green eyes, and shape of face had changed little except to mature into full manhood since he had left at twelve years old.

The Light within him insisted that it wasn’t time yet for his family to see him again, and being in Stormwind for any length of time held that very real possibility. He knew himself that he wasn’t ready yet for that encounter. There had been a reason for his letting them go, and his purpose still had not come to full fruition yet. While the Light had taught him many things over the years, and he had drawn into a fuller, and richer relationship with his sire, there was still something eluding him which he needed to experience and comprehend for him to truly begin his calling in Azeroth.

And instead, the Holy Light had drawn him to head north, but not by any conventional means. Having given his last few silver coins to a poor old man who had sat begging by the dock as he stepped off the ship, Jeshua had no money with which to hire a gryphon to take him north. Neither still did the underground tram which connected the human city with Ironforge feel right, even though it was safe and free of charge. Instead, the Light insisted that he take the longer, harder route along the road east and then north through the Redridge Mountains.

Two hours out of Stormwind, as he walked the road in the late morning, he saw the old cart path leading up to the house he grew up in. The temptation had been strong to stop and follow it, to just see how they were doing, but he had stopped himself. What he now understood as his mission hadn’t come to completion yet and he couldn't risk it being waylaid altogether.

He kept on walking. South down the road, through Goldshire, and continued to walk, only stopping to rest much later that night in the house of a kind couple who lived near the Eastvale logging camp near the eastern provincial border. As it turned out, their son had taken a bad fever earlier in the day and they were in desperate need of one who could heal, the illness progressing too rapidly to get him to a town with a physician of any kind in time. He had been in the right place at the right time once again to save the boy’s life and banish the sickness.

All of those memories came back to him as he walked, being careful to keep close to the hills and cliff faces and not be caught out in the open in the wasteland. He had seen not a few feline predators stalking the scrub grasses and cracked dirt ground all that night and morning. Jeshua kept as far away from them as he could, as well as the more dangerous things. More than once, a small, black and rust scaled creature with bat like wings and fire for breath flew close to the ground looking for small rodents and other prey it might be able to take. Dragons, he he had discovered in his travels, were dangerous at any age, but especially those either not intelligent enough or not mature enough to know when something wasn’t a threat. There had also been a Horde outpost that he had managed to avoid much earlier in the day. While he had no quarrel with them, he knew he couldn't risk the chance they wouldn't feel the same because of his race.

The long hot valley between the jagged hills and cliffs seemed like it went on forever. His legs began to feel heavier and heavier. No matter what, he knew, he would need to stop for the rest of the day until the sun started dropping in the sky again. If nothing else, his body felt like it was going to force him to. But he could see nothing close by that might have held any real shade, or anything to at least fully shield his head from the relentless sunlight.

Finally, finding an outcropping of rock not too far up the hill, he managed to climb it and position himself sitting under the outcropping so that it just barely came over his head. It was something, but once the sun moved again, what relief it provided would disappear. Drawing his legs up underneath himself, he closed his eyes to rest them and commune with the Light.

“Why do you put yourself through this?” A strange, almost ethereal voice asked him, there was a musical quality to it, but it was discordant and melancholy, like chimes that had cracked and broken.

He opened his eyes in surprise to see who the owner of the voice was, but there was no one there that he could see. There was only the sunlight, and the few shadows around the boulders and rocks along the cliffside, but he had seen enough about the world he lived in to know that meant nothing.

“Where are you? Show yourself.” He spoke out loud, his tone of voice expecting a response.

He wasn’t disappointed. The shadows not far from him which had been formed by one of the larger boulders pooled together and coalesced into what appeared to almost be a dark, human shaped hole which stood upright and came before him. It gestured with its hands of shadow, and repeated its question. “Why do you put yourself through this?”

“It’s the will of the Light.” Jeshua responded. “The Light guided me here, and the Light will see me through it.”

“Foolish mortal, it will be the will of the Light which kills you.” The shadow creature told him.

He had been about to argue when something within him acknowledged what the creature said as true. He would die if he continued to follow the Light’s will as he had done. He didn’t know how, but he would.

“How?” He asked.

“Does it matter?” The creature questioned. “Look what the Light has taken from you; your family, your people, and your future. You haven’t eaten for over a month, and you’re about to die of dehydration. No one will find your emaciated body out here. And for what? You don’t even know if there’s an end to all this, do you? Pathetic.”

Has it really been over a month? He wondered to himself. Has only the Light really sustained me for that long? The days and nights had blurred together so much he had lost count. As he really began to think about it, however, he realized it had been a long time since his hunger pains had stopped altogether.

“There’s a Goblin settlement just over that rise. The Goblins are Horde vermin anyway. Use the power you know you have and take what you need from the little scum. No one would fault you.” It then laughed, “Not even their Horde allies. It’s the only way you’re going to survive this.” The creature taunted him.

Suddenly it was as if a switch had been thrown and his whole body began to spasm as his stomach cried out in pain for food. Added to it came a thirst which seemed magnified a hundred times than it already had been. He turned his head in the direction which the shadow creature had indicated and saw in the distance a gaudy arrow lit by electricity pointing up a steep path.

Jeshua found himself facing a horrid choice that his own body fought him on desperately. Follow the path his sire wanted for him and surely die, or abandon that path and live. His life, or the Light, which would it be? 

What are their lives in comparison to mine, after all? The thought that ran through his mind felt so unnatural and alien. He didn’t know the Goblins in question, though he had met a few. They weren’t always a particularly pleasant people. Most, it seemed, would sell their own mothers if they would fetch a good price. Gold was their god. Materialistic and greedy they deserved judgment, didn’t they?

“But then what is my life in comparison to theirs?” He asked himself wordlessly, mouthing the words. “If all were given the judgment they deserved then no one would be spared damnation without the mercy of the Light.”

“The Light is life.” He then responded, quoting the Tome of Divinity. “In the Light, there is no death. Even though I should perish, the Light remains.” 

Death then to him appeared not a thing to be feared, but a closer union, unfettered by the frailties of mortality. He then accepted his death, letting go and choosing to put his trust in the Light which had guided him and been his greatest companion.

“Fool!” The shadow creature nearly screamed at him, but it dissolved into the sunlight as though it were never there.

The peace of the Light washed over him, and gave him a renewed calm and energy that he hadn’t had just minutes before. The sunlight above suddenly wasn’t threatening to end his life, but became a welcome friend. 

Jeshua stood up from where he had sat, and continued on his way, all traces of the physical distress he had been in having left him. His legs no longer felt heavy, and his feet no longer sore. The sense of his direction grew stronger within him, and he felt as though he was being called forward. The sun rose higher in the sky until its apex point as Jeshua walked across the rock strewn desert, his bare feet moving with purpose and strength.

An hour later, he paused where he was. The sense of direction had left him, and he sensed the need to wait. To his left, high up in the rock cliffside, a dark stone structure of ancient dwarven architecture loomed silent like a tomb. There were no dwarves present however, and it didn’t look like there had been for some time. Closer inspection of the landscape revealed small, sturdy bleached dwarven bones and ruined armor scattered around as though scoured by the sun and occasional dust storms. To his right in the distance was what appeared to be heavy beamed wooden scaffolding around a large pit in the ground which had been dug. It looked to him like one of the many archaeological digs dwarves were known for, though this one appeared as abandoned as the cliffside fortress. It seemed the diminutive but sturdy, stocky people were forever obsessed with the past and their ancestors.

Then, in front of him, what shadows there were coalesced again into the same humanoid form devoid of all light it seemed.

“The remnants of a powerful kingdom.” The shadow creature told him, gesturing to the dig, and the dwarven fortress in the rock. “Much like the one your ancestors ruled.”

“What ancestors?” Jeshua asked, not knowing what the creature was talking about now.

“Let me show you.” The creature replied, then threw its shadowy void arms towards Jeshua and suddenly, the scene around him changed.

He and the shadow form were standing in front of the immense, ruined gates of what had once been a great, walled city. Even now, though they were crumbling, he could see what had been magnificent keeps beyond the walls and a domed Cathedral that would have rivaled Stormwind’s own easily.

“Where are we?” He asked.

“Behold, Lordaeron, the city of your ancestors. Or at least it was, before the Scourge attacked it. Look at them.” He motioned towards what looked from a distance like human beings, but bent and malshaped. “This bunch rebelled against the rest, but they’re all the same undead monsters, aren’t they?”

“I don’t understand. I was born in Gilneas. My mother was from--” He protested, confused.

“Look at yourself, fool.” The shadow produced a hand mirror and showed Jeshua his own reflection. “You’ve seen those flea bitten mongrels when they choose to hide as humans. Did you really think you were one of them without the fur and fangs?”

The shadow waved its right arm again, and the scene changed once more. They were standing in a ruined stone hallway. The once carpeted floor was now scattered with small bits of debris and dust. Directly in front of Jeshua however was a painting of a clearly royal family. An older man with greying blond hair and beard standing next to a beautiful queen with strawberry blond hair. In front of them sat two teenaged children in fine apparel, a boy and a girl. The boy was handsome, almost elvishly so, with blond locks and clean shaven face. The girl though, as Jeshua looked closer he recognized the hair, the eyes and the shape of face very, very well.

“Behold the last king of Lordaeron and his family. Your family, Jeshua, or at least they used to be before the boy there joined the Scourge, slew his father, and then destroyed this kingdom in one fell swoop. You were born to rule… your highness.”

“But the people…?” Jeshua felt as though he had been physically struck as he tried to digest this new information.

“Those that survived scattered to the four corners of Azeroth, some to Northrend, some south to Stormwind. The rest...” the shadow pointed to a humanoid shape down the hallway. 

As it came closer, bright moonlight coming through cracks in the hall revealed it to be one of the “Forsaken”, undead creatures whose souls had been bound to their decaying bodies by dark magic, but their spirits having long fled. Their wills and minds were their own, but they could no longer be called truly human. Jeshua felt the gorge rise in his throat as he viewed the creature’s dead, glazed over white eyes and greenish, rotting skin. Bits of bone poked through its fingertips and around its joints. Maggots occasionally dropped haphazardly as it walked.

“They would sooner feast on your living flesh than hear anything you have to say. They’re damned, Jeshua, even unable to tolerate the Light itself as it burns away at them, threatening to send their souls to Helya’s eternal darkness.” The shadow replied.

“There has to be something...” Jeshua said. “How could these be…?” In his twenty years of life, he hadn’t known, hadn’t seen any of it. But within himself he knew once more, the Shadow spoke the truth to him.

“My people.” He finished his sentence, the realization dawning on him. “These are my people.”

“Not any more, but you could rally the remnants of your people in New Hearthglen in Northrend, and the Scarlet Crusade which still controls the Monastery in the north of Tirisfal Glades. You could bring them under the banner of a true heir of Lordaeron, and lead them to destroy these pathetic monsters, burn them all away with the Light and cleanse the unholy scourge from your lands once and for all… your majesty. There are paladins and priests just waiting to take up your cause.” The shadow told him, his voice deferential, even reverent as he talked of using the Light to strike down the undead.

But Jeshua continued to gaze at the Forsaken man in front of him. He had seen them before in his travels to be sure, but always from a distance. Never as close as he was now. The man’s eyes were dead, but they seemed filled with sorrow and pain that wouldn’t end. Jeshua looked deeply into the man and saw what had been a father as well as a husband once with a family and children. He hadn’t asked for his fate, it had been forced upon him and now he was just playing with the hand of Hearthstone cards he had been dealt. He saw a man loyal to his monarch, and loyal to his people trying to make the best of a horrific situation. He saw a man who had given up hope on redemption and salvation because he had been told that they were beyond his reach.

“These are my people, and they need to know that I haven’t forsaken them.” He said aloud, gesturing to the Forsaken man, a conviction growing inside of him that he hadn’t known before as his calling began to crystallize within his heart and mind.

“The Light has forsaken these people!” The shadow yelled at him. “It’s better to just put them out of their misery! Do you realize how many good Alliance men these monsters have slaughtered and then brought back to life as one of their own just to fill their ranks? Those men deserve justice for what was done to them!”

A steely resolve ran through Jeshua as he began to reach out to touch the undead man. “The Light abandons no one. All are welcome in its embrace.”

“NOOO!!!” The shadow shouted forcefully, and once more the scene around him changed and Jeshua had been returned to the desert alone as though no time had passed.

The shadow vanished, he then began to march forward towards the north now as though pulled by an unseen force.

A few minutes later, a swirling vortex of darkness erupted from the desert floor in front of him, barring his way. Around the canyon, echoes of misplaced laughter and maddening screams rattled off the cliffs and rocks.

“STOP!! I forbid you to go forward, mortal! Bow before me and behold the power of the Void! All worlds, all people, all will eventually fall to the Void’s embrace!!” The darkness commanded him as great tendrils of shadow erupted from its sides like twin pythons. “Face limitless power and become one with the Shadow!!”

Another realization came to the man as Jeshua drew himself up before the shadow creature. The display was awesome and terrifying to behold, but within himself Jeshua knew only peace, and the increasing awareness of who he truly was.

“You have no authority to command me.” He told it calmly, serenity and compassion welling up within him.

It felt as though an awakening was happening within Jeshua, a light was dawning within his mind and heart.

Yes. The small, gentle voice within him spoke clearly. We are one, my son.

“I am darkness! I am shadow! I am the void, mortal! You will be consumed by all that I am!” The void creature bellowed.

Jeshua smiled. “What is darkness but a need for the Light?” He replied, and then reached out to the creature to lay his hand on it.

The Void god, as Jeshua now knew that it was, recoiled back, “No! I am destruction! I am chaos incarnate! I am madness and death!!” Tendrils of void energy shot out from the monstrosity in all directions, threatening to consume whatever it touched, almost as in a panic.

Jeshua’s voice spoke quietly, just above a whisper, but his words struck the creature like powerful blows with a paladin’s hammer. “I am the Path. I am Truth, and I am Life.”

“NOO!! KEEP AWAY FROM ME!!!” It screamed in panic as Jeshua stepped forward towards it, his hand outstretched to touch the creature.

“I am the Light.” He finally said as his hand made contact with the living, solidified darkness.

Brilliant radiance flowed out from Jeshua into the creature’s form and it screamed a terrible, seemingly endless cry. The dark tendrils of void drew back writhing in pain as the whole creature’s form shook with holy shining glory. The shadows around it burned away, being purged as with sacred flames.

Jeshua held still, his eyes closed, silently communing with his sire as he did so. Pure, Holy Light overflowed up within him and kept building in pressure and power as though from a geyser, and through his hands into the fallen creature. He however continued to feel only peace, and renewed strength of purpose. From the Void god he felt pain, loneliness, and a madness which had gripped it for millennia he knew. It had, itself, once been a creature devoted to the Light before the darkness had overtaken it. Like the Forsaken man, it too had long been in need of redemption and restoration.

When he could sense no more shadow within it, Jeshua withdrew his hand. He opened his eyes to see a being seemingly composed of crystalline shards of pure golden light hovering above the ground in front of him. From it he could feel waves of peace and gratitude radiating out towards him.

“Welcome back, my friend.” Jeshua told the reborn Naaru.

“You would have been right to judge and end me, my lord.” The Naaru told him, its voice genuinely deferential.

“I didn’t come to judge anyone, but to redeem and save them; to restore them to the Light.” Jeshua replied with a passionate conviction. Truly, he now knew for certain, this was why he was born.

“My sire, and my Light.” The Naaru responded reverently, and then bent itself in half, bowing to the mortal man before it. “What would you have of me?”

“Tell your brothers the reign of Shadow is ending. The Kingdom of Light has come.” Jeshua replied. “I go north to Lordaeron.”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The aged Draenei knelt humbly on both knees, his dark azure hooves stretched out behind and beneath him. He was bent over contemplatively on a raised platform deep in the ruins of the great space faring vessel in spite of his grand, shining white vestments with violet colored crystal ornamentation, and in spite of the station he still held among his people. His long full, snow white beard dusted the rose colored crystalline floor beneath him. The chamber around him, also constructed of amethyst like crystal in a variety of hues was lit more dimly, he felt, than it should be. But there was nothing which could now be done about it. The being who had once brought the Light to this chamber would do so no more.

His eyes were closed as he attempted to pray and meditate, but such things came harder for Velen now. The events of just a few years before had badly shaken what even he had thought was an unshakable faith in the Holy Light; so much so that the nightmares still had not ceased from interrupting his sleep. He still saw images of a crimson Eredar general dying in his arms, and of having to slay others who had once been close friends and colleagues. It brought him no pleasure that day to have been the final hand to put down Kil’Jaeden, the Eredar man who at one time had been a skilled and wise statesman of their people. The way of the Light was forgiveness. Velen struggled with such things where Kil’Jaeden and Archimonde were concerned because of all the pain and sorrow their foolish choices had caused, but, in spite of his difficulty, Kil’Jaeden was still counted among the many dead for whom Velen mourned. He saw his dying eyes when he closed his own as well at times.

How many died? How many didn’t need to? It was a question he pondered again and again. Another like it had been, Would it have made a difference if he hadn’t left Argus? If he had stayed to fight?

He would never know.

Few came down to this place any longer. Once it was known among those who inhabited the Exodar as the “Seat of the Naaru” for the being of Light that had once inhabited it and been their teacher and guide through the great beyond of empty space. He himself had sat at Or’os’ “feet” many, many times in discussion, basking in the wise creature’s guidance and teachings. He had, once upon a time, believed the naaru incapable of death or even mistakes. He had also been proven horribly, horribly wrong as he had witnessed one’s painful death right here on this spot.

There were times he could still hear Or’os’ pained screams from the torture before its death, hauntingly beautiful in their musical quality, echo through the walls of this chamber.

And it was here as well that he held the dying, scarred form of what had been his only son. He knew in his heart that the monster which had murdered the naaru and been slain for it that day had not been his son for many thousands of years. The boy he knew had died long before the Burning Legion’s demon, Rakeesh, had taken over within him. Somehow, however, that knowledge had not eased the pain.

He had given up on the Light for a time that day, renouncing his title as Prophet of the Naaru.

“Tell him the Light has died this day.” He whispered the words he spoke to Khadgar’s emissary who had brought him the heart of the naaru prime.

Though that emissary and his allies had done what was demanded of them in the moment, he still could not meet their eyes either then or now without pain and anger welling up within him. It had only been weeks ago that he had been required to speak with them once more. Khadgar's emissary had gone on to become the Highlord of the Silver Hand in Tyrion Fordring's place, the head of the Paladin Order to which many of his own people belonged. 

But in spite of that pain and anger, the Light had not abandoned him even as everything within him threatened to walk away from the Light. There was much within him that even wanted to. His faith had been all that had sustained him for twenty five thousand of Azeroth's years, and in one day it had been devastated, never to be the same again. Slowly, bit by bit though, he found himself turning back to the Light for the strength he needed to keep going, but his trust in the divine energy was no longer uncertain or unwavering.

He still had a responsibility to his people. They still looked to him to guide them through times both peaceful and troublesome. The young human king Anduin still looked to him as a mentor and a spiritual father especially in these times when all out war between the two dominant factions in the world seemed all but inevitable even as only a few years before it seemed almost unthinkable. The Orders which had formed from the class disciplines all across Azeroth held members from both Alliance and Horde as brothers in arms, especially his own Priestly Conclave. Alonsus Faol, an undead Bishop whose people’s own queen now led the Horde, was instrumental in creating it. Formerly the Archbishop of Lordaeron, and a man of great faith in the Holy Light, he now found himself adhering to the more “grey” area of their discipline, his faith in the Light tarnished because of all that had happened, but not extinguished. While Velen and he might not have considered each other friends, they respected each other’s faith and devotion and worked well together. Both Horde and Alliance heroes and leaders had lent their aid as a united force against the Legion. Bonds had been forged as both sides shed blood together against a common enemy. Peace and understanding should have been the natural outcome. Why wasn’t it?

The skirmishes in Ashenvale after the end of the Legion war had, as before, begun as misunderstandings between the Night Elves and the Orcs over logging rights. No matter how many times mediation had been attempted by the Cenarion Circle or the Earthen Ring, and matters agreed to by both sides, a fight would break out again. A kor'kron or a sentinel would turn up dead. Accusations of treaty violations flew. The same thing happened between the Forsaken and the Dwarves in the eastern lands. All of the Orders had tried to mediate, but relations continued to sour and old hatreds began to rear their heads once more.

It had been a long time since the Holy Light had provided answers and visions to the Draenei leader, but still he came here seeking them, kneeling where he once received wise instruction from the Naaru, trying to fulfill his expected role even as he no longer felt adequate, or even worthy of the task. 

But all had been silent as he prayed, and the images of Or’os’ death continued to dance behind his closed eyelids, along with the death of his son.

Then, the haunting music his mind played back from that horrid day shifted and he thought he could hear it audibly. The pain and sorrow it conveyed changed and lightened to joy and peace and he felt his heart ease. He could hear light bells and tones, and perfect harmonies coming together. The images of the death of the Naaru receded from his mind and were replaced by a serenity he had not felt in some time.

What is happening? He questioned even as he welcomed the relief from the shadows which had darkened his heart.

“Greetings, Velen, beloved of the Light.” He heard a musical voice intone.

This is no mere trick of the mind. He realized and, straightening his back, he opened his eyes. When he did, he did not believe what he saw at first.

“Am I dreaming? Or has my mind finally left me?” He asked at the sight, a tear running down his face.

In front of him, in the place where Or’os once dwelt, hovered the crystalline form of a Naaru, shining with a radiant glory which filled the empty seat with warmth and peace. The natural shimmering music filled his ears and soothed his soul. It was not the ancient friend that had fallen by his son’s hand that day returned, but it was a great one nonetheless.

“Do not be afraid. You are not dreaming, Velen, and neither have you taken leave of your senses.” The Naaru responded. “I come to bring you a message of hope and salvation.”

“And what is this message, great one?” Velen asked, humbly.

“One born of the Light has come and now walks Azeroth as a mortal man. He will spread his Light across this world and bring redemption to its people who have fallen into Shadow. The Kingdom of Light has come, Velen.” The Naaru told him.

One born of the Light? Velen questioned within himself. This was a description he had rarely heard of anyone except the Naaru themselves.

“I don’t understand.” He admitted. “Who is this mortal?”

“Seek him out, Velen. Even now he travels into the north of the Eastern Kingdoms to bring healing and peace to a people lost in death and darkness.” The crystalline entity told him. 

Velen considered this, and the messenger who spoke to him, carefully. It was the first time in a long time the Light had spoken to him through any means. And what a message! As unbelievable as the presence of the messenger itself, and yet here the Naaru was.

“I will seek this Lightborn that you have spoken of, great one, and I will heed the Light’s message.” Velen responded, though the struggle within himself kindled even further as he could not see where the Light was leading him. But then, he reminded himself, could he ever really do so in the first place?

* * *

Across the world…

The young Night Elf man watched the humbly dressed beggar for some time before he was certain. All humans tended to look alike to him. There had even been times Amerian had mistaken a human man for a woman, much to their mutual humiliation. But the hair, the eyes, the beard, the lightly peach colored skin, and even the travel stained linen robes were all the same as the human Shan’do he had heard teach in Darnassus not far from the great Temple of the goddess Elune not long ago.

It was strange thinking of any human as “Shan’do” to be honest. They were so young in comparison to his own race. Amerian himself was likely more than a hundred times the young beggar’s chronological age. The barefoot teacher however had spoken with such honesty and wisdom, speaking on things that many of his people wrestled with but few would openly voice, it drew him back to the purer faith and practice of his own religion. “Shan’do” seemed appropriate at the least.

Amerian had heard many priestesses and druids speak before of course. The High Priestess herself taught in Elune’s name. But there was something just “different” about this man. Just sitting next to him brought a quiet joy he couldn’t explain. Whenever the human looked at Amerian there was no estrangement, no barrier, as though he might have known the Night Elf all of his life and was genuinely glad to see him. There also appeared to be no pretense in the man. What you saw and heard was what you got from him. Unlike so many, the young human acted on every word which left his mouth.

The Night Elf stifled a yawn. The sleep patterns of the other races in the world were as foreign to him as their manner of dress and heavily accented Common. His body still had not gotten used to the Draenei’s diurnal habits.

Amerian had come to the part of Khaz Modan called the Wetlands to the outpost called Greenwarden’s Grove from Darnassus three weeks before. The human had awakened a desire in the simple scribe and author to see more of the world than he had. In truth, he had never really left his own people’s lands in Moonglade, and later Teldrassil when it was founded. He was a scholar and a writer. And though he would read volumes written about other lands, kingdoms, and races, he had never actually seen them himself before. The world, after all, could be a dangerous place, and Amerian was neither hero nor fighter. 

He was shorter in stature than most of the men of his race, though he still stood eye level with the taller of the humans. He was also rather thin, and his skin more of a lighter shade of lavender than the deep azure hues many expected from his folk. His hands were not strong and hard, but thinner and more suited to holding a stylus or pen than a sword or a bow. His trimmed beard and shoulder length hair were of a lighter shade of green. He possessed no real skills with which to defend himself having never sought training in any martial school or discipline involving either weapons or magic. And in truth, while exciting to read about, such things in reality frightened Amerian. He simply didn’t have the constitution for them.

As a result, the most adventuresome he could bring himself to be was to travel to one of his people’s well protected outposts in a province held squarely in Alliance hands. But, to his credit, it was at least on the other side of the world, far from Darnassus. 

Even so, he hadn’t traveled alone. Instead, having befriended a Draenei jewelcrafter and merchant, Vasuuvata, who had been passing through Darnassus on her way between the Azuremyst Isles and the Eastern Kingdoms, he had accompanied her, assisting her in keeping a count of her wares and recording business transactions for her. It was tedious but useful work for him and bought him an amiable traveling companion as well who told him stories of her people's previous home on Draenor, an entirely other world which he had never seen. She too had heard the human Shan’do teach, and she too had felt it resonate within her.

She now stood nearby in front of her tent that mid-morning, setting up the display for her Draenei made wares for the few residents of the Night Elf Town and those travelers who passed through on their way west towards Menethil Harbor or north along the road to where he knew more dangerous lands lay.

He had watched the man come into the town from the road to the southwest an hour earlier. At first, thinking him merely one of the many vagabonds which wandered the world, he had meant to pay him no mind, but then he seemed unable to withdraw his gaze. There had been something so familiar about him.

Now certain of the man’s identity, but wanting his companion’s certainty as well, he went over to where Vasuuvata bent over her stand of crystalline trinkets and jewelry and pointed the man out saying, “Isn’t that the human Shan’do, Jeshua?”

Surprised, the Draenei woman straightened up and looked in the direction he pointed. Then, seeing the man, she nodded. “Yes, I think it is. But what is he doing here? He looks so thin.” She responded, noting the gauntness in his cheeks as though he hadn’t eaten much for some time. “What could have happened?”

“I don’t know.” Amerian replied.

The Night Elf then crossed over the main thoroughfare in the small outpost closer to where Jeshua had been standing. The human man had paused for the moment as though not knowing where to go next. Vasuuvata had been right, Amerian thought as he drew closer. The human appeared very thin since the last he had seen him, perhaps even dangerously so, but there was a light, even a joy in his eyes in spite of it as he surveyed the outpost.

“Shan’do?” Amerian asked loudly.

The human either didn’t hear him, or didn’t realize that Amerian had been addressing him, and so he asked again even louder, “Shan’do Jeshua?”

This time he turned to see the Night Elf, and a welcome smile crossed his features. “Amerian!” He called back, “Is that really you? How have you been, my friend?”

“I am well, Shan’do.” Amerian replied, then he asked, “Have you had breakfast yet? Vasuuvata and I have finished eating, but we still have some fruit and part of a loaf of bread left.”

“Is Vasuuvata here too?” Jeshua asked, seeming genuinely pleased. “You’re both a long ways from Darnassus. What coaxed you to leave?”

He looks as though he is starving to death, and yet here he stands happily making small talk even after I have offered him food. Amerian noted, wandering what had happened to the human, and concerned for him.

“After you spoke to us, I… I thought it was time I saw more of the world and Vasuuvata had been planning to travel here anyway. It seemed like a good opportunity.” Amerian told him. He then encouraged him again, “Please, Shan’do, come and eat.”

“Of course, I’d love to spend time with Vasuuvata and you.” He replied. “I want to hear what has happened since last I saw you.”

They began to walk back towards the merchant’s tall, dark purple tent stall. The Draenei’s unicycle cart sat unhitched next to it. The young elekk having pulled the cart, its hind leg tied to a long leash staked into the ground was otherwise allowed to graze freely within sight of the outpost.

“I’m afraid my departure from Darnassus was sooner than either of us would have liked.” Jeshua told him. “But the city patrols were very insistent.” His tone was light as he recalled it.

“I am sorry for that, Shan’do. My people…” He tried to find a way to apologize for their treatment of him. “My people don’t like new ways of thinking, even if they are right.”

“Especially if they come from a human that is barely out of childhood.” Jeshua added, a slight gleam in his eye.

“There is that too.” Amerian conceded, feeling somewhat chastised at the reminder of his people’s occasional bouts of racism.

When they arrived, Vasuuvata welcomed him warmly and immediately brought out what remaining food they had from their own morning meal and set it before Jeshua as he sat down near the remains of a small fire which Amerian had built earlier to take away some of the chill from the misty swamp air which came in from the western part of the region. Amerian and Vasuuvata took seats opposite him.

The Wetlands province of Khaz Modan was just that; wet. Both the ground and the air around them felt waterlogged constantly, with the earthy, somewhat foul smell that accompanied such conditions. It was a large swamp which extended from the western coastline all the way back up to the mountains which separated it from Grim Batol and the Highlands to the east. The western portion of the wetlands was largely inhabited by the six legged crocolisks, and bands of murlocs, while the eastern portion tended to be more solid, grassy ground as it backed up against the mountains to the north and east. Raptors made their nests along the foothills of those mountains, making exploration a potentially fatal proposition at best. The air tended to be cool and moist, especially in the mornings before the fog would completely lift towards midday.

The man ate well, graciously thanking his hosts, but not like one would expect a man who was starving to eat. Jeshua seemed more intent on conversation than returning energy and nutrients to his body.

When he had finished, Amerian asked him, “Shan’do, where are you going next?”

Jeshua then looked at him with an appraising expression as if he had been considering something, he then asked, “Why don’t you come with me and find out?” And then to Vasuuvata he added, “Why don’t you both come with me?”

“Come with you?” Amerian asked, uncertain of the human teacher’s meaning at first.

“Yes.” Jeshua replied. “I know where I must go and what I must do, and I will need help. I want you to be a part of it. Both of you.”

Amerian’s instinct was to politely decline. The look in the Shan’do’s eyes spoke of difficulty and dangerous places that Amerian was afraid to venture into. But there was something about him, always something about him, that made him want to know more and follow where he led. The Night Elf couldn’t explain it. Still, he thought he was doing well just being there in the Wetlands far outside of his own personal comfort zone. He respected the Shan’do, he just didn’t know if he was ready for anything like that yet.

Vasuuvata then looked at her cart and the wares she had just set up to sell to passersby. It wasn’t much, to be honest, but it was her livelihood. She had created the pieces herself, and she had been quite proud of her work. But she had heard the Shan’do speak with such authority about the Light in Darnassus, even as though he was talking about an old friend with whom he was intimately acquainted. She hadn’t felt the same since. The Draenei woman had never considered herself particularly materialistic, and believed herself to always be fair in her trading. She thought she had been a “good” person and followed the teachings of the anchorites and priests, but this man had left her wanting to know and experience more than her own religious teachings could offer. Suddenly, her jewelry didn’t sparkle as much as it once had. Still, her small trade in jewelry was all she had, and it was her living.

Not knowing how to answer the human’s request, Vasuuvata answered him politely, “I will consider it.”

In the same way, the Night Elf scribe responded, “As will I, Shan’do.”

Jeshua nodded his head, accepting their answers.

* * *

Later that day, as the sun had passed its apex across the sky, a commotion arose in the Kaldorei style inn house just down the main thoroughfare of the outpost. The three had just finished their lunch and had been catching up on what had transpired in the previous month, though Jeshua had been more reserved in revealing to them all that had transpired in his journey north from Stormwind. Neither had spent much time in the eastern continents, and so were not aware of all that walking the distance between Elwynn and the Wetlands entailed, though he did describe his travel through Loch Modan and the dwarven town there called Thelsamar.

Turning their heads towards the sound, they heard loud yelling coming from the otherwise quiet inn, and saw Kaldorei sentinels rushing to the building with their wicked, three petal-blade glaives in hand. Many other people, Night Elves, Worgen, and a few dwarves were running out of the inn, panic etched across their own faces. The innkeeper, Amerian saw, had been among them.

“What is happening there?” He asked aloud.

Standing up, Jeshua began to calmly walk towards the commotion as well. 

“We should see if everything is all right.” He told them. “They may need a healer, and I have some small skill.”

As Jeshua approached the inn, a sentinel shouted, “STAY BACK!! HE’S TOO DANGEROUS!!!”

Amerian and Vasuuvata came up behind Jeshua to see what was happening, but whatever it was, it was happening further inside the building. Then, the sentinel who had warned the human off took off running into the building herself when she heard screams of pain that sounded as though coming from one of her own people.

It was then they heard a voice which could only be described as deep and demonic shouting, “RUN!!! RUN!!! STAY AWAY FROM ME!!! I CAN’T CONTROL IT ANY LONGER!!!!”

“What is happening?” Amerian asked again, fear seeping into his voice.

Another sentinel ran by them, glaive in hand, shouting something which sounded like “Demon Hunter’s gone mad!!!”

Understanding then broke over Amerian’s features, it was soon accompanied by bodily shaking and expressions of terror. He had seen it more than once as the fel Elven followers of Illidan Stormrage, the Illidari, attempted to somewhat reintegrate themselves into the rest of their people’s societies after the defeat of the Burning Legion. They had sacrificed themselves, literally making a devil’s bargain taking the demonic powers in order to hunt down and slay the demons that threatened Azeroth. But the power came with a terrible price, a demonic rage and personality that had to be constantly kept under control. Many of the Demon Hunters, their sole purpose having been fulfilled when there were no more demons to hunt, had lost control of the demon’s power which infused them in the couple of years following the Legion’s total defeat and had gone on rampages in populated areas. When it happened, innocents were often killed. There were even times when the Demon Hunter would explode like powerful bombs from the powers they were trying to contain, sometimes taking bystanders with them. Sentinels and guardians had been forced to put them down, often at the cost of several of their own. Amerian had seen it once with his own eyes from a distance. It was not something he wanted to see again.

And that was exactly what appeared to be happening right now in the Greenwarden’s Grove inn as the demonic voice shouted, “I WILL KILL YOU!!! I WILL DESTROY YOU ALL!!!”

“Holy Light.” Vasuuvata exclaimed, her look one of pity. “That poor man.”

“We need to get away. Now.” Amerian said out loud. “He could kill everyone here; including us.”

Vasuuvata began to nod her agreement and then looked to Jeshua. But he was no longer standing where she had last seen him only seconds before. Instead, he was at the top of the wooden ramp which led up into the inn, and then he disappeared into the building itself. Grunts and growls escaped from the opening, and then a great scream erupted like nothing she had heard before.

Without thought, she ran towards the scream where she thought she would find their human friend injured or worse. Seeing her do so, Amerian fought with himself for a minute and then followed to see if he could lend any aid as well.

The scene they found was not the one either had expected.

Jeshua stood calmly within the inn. His demeanor was non-threatening, but confident and unshaken. The expression on his face was deep concern and empathy for the creature his eyes were locked on.

In front of him, cringing in fear as though a slave fearing a beating from its master, was a demon like creature which only vague resembled a Kaldorei man in appearance any longer. It was huge and muscular. Great wings like a dragon's had sprouted from its back, and talon like claws had sprouted from its fingertips. Horns like those of a ram adorned its head, and its skin was a dark gray, nearly black color. Its eyes burned with the intense green energies of the demonic powers coursing within it. The badly injured and fallen Night Elf sentinels laying scattered and bleeding around the inn stood as testament to the raw strength and speed of the creature. He could have disembowled the human in front of his with less than a stroke as it appeared had been done with the sentinels.

Vasuuvata and Amerian stood frozen at the sight, their mouths hanging open in shock.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!!!” The maddened Demon Hunter screamed, though remained frozen in place, hunched over and seemingly terrified. “AAAAHH!!! I KNOW WHO YOU ARE!!! LIGHTBORN!!! DON’T, PLEASE!!!!” It begged him as though crying for mercy.

“Be quiet.” Jeshua responded, his voice never rising. “It’s time to let go now.”

Then the creature reacted as if someone had slapped a gag on it, and it grabbed for its throat as though choking. It cried out again, fighting against the invisible restraint.

“Be cleansed.” Jeshua then said, not moving his hands, not changing his calm stance or posture at all.

But the effect on the Demonized Night Elf was immediate as a radiant light began to emanate from the creature’s body and the radiance just kept building. Amerian and Vasuuvata stood transfixed as they watched it burn away the demon’s horns, restoring the lost sky blue hair. The cleansing light continued its purge, erasing fel green glowing tattoos across its skin, and working its way to the leathery wings and wicked taloned claws leaving only lavender colored skin and healthy, normal digits. The hooves, not so different from Vasuuvata’s own which had replaced the Demon Hunter’s appendages vanished and grew into whole healthy lavender colored feet. When the Light had finished its work, there remained only a Night Elf man in ripped and torn leather clothing which lay on the floor gently sleeping, a bandage covering his eyes.

Then turning his attention to the sentinels around him, Jeshua went to work, kneeling by each one of them, and mending their wounds with his healing skills regardless of the severity of the injury. Most of them were beyond severe, and looked beyond the hope of recovery. It looked and smelled like a horrific slaughterhouse. Neither Night Elf man nor Draenei woman had any idea how the seemingly shredded women could have been clinging to life. There were sizable pools of Night Elf blood on the floor, and many looked pale and close to death from the blood loss, if they hadn’t already crossed over that barrier. Jeshua moved from woman to woman, sometimes appearing to piece back together tissues, and in one case re-attach an arm which had been sheared away.

He then came to one whose limbs and body were laying disjointed and in completely unnatural positions like a marionette which had been broken and thrown into a corner. He made to adjust the position of her body, but found himself unable to lift or move her by himself. Amerian couldn’t see any sign of breathing from her before Jeshua began working with her until after his hands had tried to gently move her into a more natural position.

Jeshua then turned to the other two and said, “here, give me a hand. I need to slowly turn this one so she doesn’t injure herself further after she’s mended.”

But they both just stood there speechless at what they had just seen.

“Please.” He asked again. “I don’t have the strength right now.”

Vasuuvata then found her legs and moved to kneel next to Jeshua, still looking at him in awe even as she tried to help him gently set the limbs of the sentinel into something much more comfortable.

Amerian’s voice then began to croak, “How…? What just…?” He then tried to sum up his questions into one, “Who are you, Shan’do?”

Jeshua then replied, not taking his eyes from his patient as the healing energies passed through his hands into the woman’s limbs, “Don’t tell anyone what you’ve seen here, not yet at least, but come with me and find out who I am.”

Vasuuvata looked from him, to the renewed Night Elf man laying peacefully on the floor, to the half a dozen sentinels recovering from wounds that should have seen them dead in spite of the healer’s abilities. Wordlessly, she nodded slowly and said using the Night Elf appellation, “I will follow you, Shan’do.”

“I will, too.” Amerian then said, an expression of surprise coming over his face at the words which had passed from his lips.

Did I really just say that? He asked himself internally.

Jeshua nodded at both of them his acknowledgment. He then stood up, satisfied that the women he treated were only just resting now and were past the point of needing a healer. He walked over to the former Demon Hunter and removed the man’s bandage from his eyes which appeared without scars of any kind, perfectly whole and sound.

Shouts from outside the inn could be heard, and Amerian knew that others from the settlement were now coming to investigate what had happened when everything had gone quiet. Soon, they would work up the courage to enter the inn and see for themselves.

“Here, help me with our new friend. He will be very confused when he wakes up, and I don’t think the sentinels here will keep to Elune’s path when they realize who he is under the circumstances. We should take him with us.” Jeshua told them, viewing the unconscious Night Elf man on the floor who looked so very different from the monster which had existed only minutes before.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

In Stormwind several days later...

It was mid-morning in the great human city of Stormwind. The sky held a few light clouds, but the sun was otherwise shining as it climbed steadily towards its noon time rise. The salty smells of the sea air came on light breezes up into the bustling metropolis of Azeroth, but were strongest in the west end which overlooked the Great Sea stretching into the horizon.

Miriam Davidson sat with her youngest, her nine year old daughter Sarah on a stone bench in the tranquil memorial park of Stormwind known as Lion’s Rest. Her other two older teenage boys, Jimmy and Jude were with their father, working in the family’s furniture shop that day. The little girl however had no interest in woodworking. Instead, having been schooled by her mother like the rest of Miriam's children, she liked to read and would make up adventure stories of her own, or else work with her mother in their garden at home. And she liked to see the different and colorful people from all over the world who made the city their home. So, her mother had taken to walking around Stormwind with her when they were in the city. Sometimes they would go down to the docks to watch the ships, and other times she would take her into Stormwind’s keep where there was a great library that was accessible to the public. Here Miriam took the opportunity to broaden her daughter's education even further. One of the girl’s favorite places to visit, however, was the peaceful sanctuary overlooking the sea.

It was a place which brought bittersweet memories to Miriam as it had also been a place which Jeshua had frequented before he walked away from her.

It had been seven years since her oldest son had left home so abruptly. A peace had come over her about it, but she still wondered where he was now and what he was doing. The last thing she and her husband had received was a well written letter from a Pandaran Monk assuring them that the boy was safe.

“Honorable Mr. and Mrs. Davidson,” the letter had read in carefully printed Common, “I hope this letter finds you well and in good health. Let me introduce myself. I am Monk Guozhi of the Mistweaver discipline. I am writing to tell you that I have recently found your son, Jeshua, and I wanted you to know that he is safe. He is an unusually insightful boy and he and I have had very good conversations. He also seems to be a bit troubled, and have much on his mind concerning which direction his life should take. At the moment, though I have offered to bring him, he does not wish to come home. Because of this, and to see that he remains safe, I have offered for him to travel with me by portal to see Pandaria and a little more of the world than perhaps he would otherwise. He will be well cared for, I assure you, and hopefully will choose to return home on his own perhaps a little bit wiser in due time, which arrangements can be easily made.”

Both she and Joseph had been worried and upset, and their first thought had been to try and find them before they left. But the mail always takes at least a couple of days from the time a letter is posted. They knew that the monk and Jeshua would have been gone from Elwynn Forest by the time the letter had reached their house. In the end, they were grateful for the Pandaran, who signed his name “Guozhi”, to have found him and then let them know he was safe. It was more than they could have had. Pandarans were known for being good spirited, honorable people even if somewhat unusual.

The days went by. Joseph continued to work in the shop in Stormwind, and then took over most of the business when his father felt too old to continue every day. Miriam still had three other children to raise that needed her. They both waited, hoped, and prayed to hear of more word about Jeshua. The Pandaran had expressed his belief that the boy would choose to come home on his own, and so they held out that hope.

But that day hadn’t yet come, and they received no more letters. The days dragged into weeks, the weeks into months, and then the months became years with no word from him or anyone else about him. It was as though he simply vanished from the face of Azeroth altogether.

She had her gaze now on the stone monument to the fallen king, Varian Wrynn. The great man had given his life so that his people could survive and have a fighting chance against the demons that had invaded their world. He had, whether he meant to or not, become the catalyst for their ultimate salvation from the Burning Legion. It was a great act which would never be forgotten.

Her thoughts then became interrupted by a loud voice.

“I tell you, Maurice, this homeless beggar, a human, went in there and took down one of those Demon Hunters that had gone crazy and then healed a dozen Night Elves to boot before he disappeared. It was just a few days ago. I heard it yesterday in The Golden Keg from this dwarf I know, Jorgen, who came into Stormwind on the tram on business there. He said he saw the whole thing and still didn’t believe it!”

Miriam heard the man’s voice clearly from behind her. She turned from where she had been sitting next to Sarah to see two Stormwind guards in full armor and livery walking their regular patrol in the fallen king’s memorial.

“It’s not often one of them can be put down by a single man, much less a healer.” Came the guard’s response, his tone of voice sounding as if he had some firsthand knowledge of the subject. “The beggar must've fought in the war.”

“That’s just it. No one knows what actually happened to him. All of a sudden this Demon Hunter started shouting for everyone to run away because he was gonna lose it. So everyone gets out of the inn as soon as they can before the sentinels rush in to take whatever he turns into down. Then Jorgen sees this crazy homeless guy walk into the inn calmly along with his two friends. The next thing anyone knows, he walks out again with them carrying an unconscious Night Elf man that sort of looked like the guy that went nuts, but there was no trace of the Demon left in him.” The first guard replied.

“That’s impossible. Either it was a survivor he saw and not everyone made it out before the sentinels went in, or your dwarf friend hit the spirits too hard.” Maurice told him matter of factly.

“I said the same thing! But Jorgen swore the inn had been cleared before this beggar and his two friends went in to help the sentinels, and he wasn’t the only one to see it!” The first guard protested. “A lot of other people at Greenwarden’s Grove saw it too, including a couple of the sentinels that they found inside. Jorgen said that when they went in, they found blood all over the floor like it had been a slaughterhouse and the sentinels that had gone in were lying in it, but when they checked them there wasn’t so much as a scratch on any of them. No one could figure out where the blood had come from.”

“What’d the sentinels say?” Maurice’s interest piqued a little more.

“Most of them were unconscious, but Jorgen said that there was this one who swore on Elune herself, you know how the Night Elves are about their goddess right? She swore on Elune herself, all the homeless guy did was talk to the Demon Hunter, and it cowered in fear in front of him. Can you believe that? Then he said something else, and it was like the demon part of it was completely erased. Said she’d never seen anything like it before.”

“Yeah, because she was probably dreaming the whole thing, Jackson.” Maurice told his friend skeptically.

The guards continued walking their patrol around the memorial, but their conversation kept ringing in Miriam’s ears. 

Who indeed could do such a thing? She wondered.

Miriam didn’t know much about the Demon Hunters except the stories she had heard. Those could be terrifying if they were to be believed. They had been fearsome warriors in the war against the Legion, but sometimes turned on their own people. She had only seen one herself once when she had visited the Mage’s District with her daughter, who loved to see the regular displays of magic there and the ice cream which The Blue Recluse, the tavern in that quarter of Stormwind, sometimes had. They had been wandering and found themselves in a section of town they didn’t normally go. The tall, blackened azure muscular man had horns like that of a bull, and leathery wings like those of a bat. Emerald green glowing tattoos swirled around his chest and arms. There was a dark, menacing aura around him that frightened both Miriam and her daughter.

From what little she knew however, there was no cure for the demon that lived inside of them. If it had really happened, and it had been a priest who had cured him, that priest would need to have a connection to and faith in the Light so strong he or she would have to be…

“Holy Light.” She exclaimed out loud, gasping as she did. “Could it be?”

Her hands flew to her mouth as the realization came over her. Her eyes began to water. 

“Momma! Are you okay?” Sarah asked her, running back to her mother from where she had been watching the waterfalls which surrounded half of the park.

“Holy Light.” She said again, not checking herself as she might have. “Jeshua. I know where Jeshua is.”

* * *

Menethil Harbor…

The Deepwater Tavern Inn was a warm and a welcome relief for travelers who managed to survive the journey to get there. Just getting to the walled island town of Menethil Harbor on the west coast of the Wetlands could be a daunting proposition as the road there was frequently haunted by crocolisks which came up out of the swamps looking for an easy meal. Raptors and bog beasts had been known to wander close to the road as well. Then, there was the complication that the town had been inundated by the sea during the cataclysm twenty years before. The houses and businesses had survived, the docks had been rebuilt, but its roads and pathways still lay under several feet of seawater which had never been able to be drained due to the loss of the sea walls. As a result, getting from one place to another required one to either wade, swim, or make use of a small dinghy if they had one. The town’s residents, though they complained about it on occasion, had appeared to have adapted and continued on. Travelers to the port town however were left to their own devices for navigating the waterlogged settlement.

The inn itself was a two story building designed along the same plans as most other inns built around the time of the first and second wars between the Alliance and the Orcish Horde. Alliance builders and engineers often worked from a specific set of blueprints which had been standardized for building new towns and outposts during that period. It made the construction move that much faster. The inn’s entryway opened up onto a spacious common room on the ground floor. A huge, well tended fireplace sat in the wall to the left and kept the chill and dampness of the outside air in check, a well stocked bar was just behind it and a kitchen in the back from where the scent of cooked fish and crabs wafted constantly. A staircase off to the right led to the inn’s upstairs rooms for those travelers needing a good night’s rest as well as food and a stiff drink. The smell of the sea was everywhere.

In the common room of the inn that morning, among the inn’s usual compliment of sailors, fishermen, and sea dogs sat four companions; two Night Elves, a Draenei woman, and a thin human man that looked like he hadn’t two coppers to his name. It wasn’t the strangest party that had ever passed through the inn’s doors, but the conversation was anything but what one would expect. The human man appeared to be teaching the other three, and several of the other patrons had gathered around to listen in, something which the teacher in question didn’t appear to discourage.

Jeshua was saying, “Let me tell you a story. The farms belonging to one of the nobles in Elwynn at one time had a huge series of harvests. When it happened, he thought, ‘It’s a good problem to have, but what am I going to do? The silos and grain bins aren’t big enough to store all of it and if I sell it all off at once, the prices will drop and I won’t get nearly what it’s worth.’ He told himself, ‘I know what I’m going to do. My bins and barns are getting old anyway. I can have my people knock them down and build bigger ones within the next few days, and then I can bank all of it for the future. I can then take it easy and tell myself, “You have all this in reserve and can just take it easy and live off of it. It’s time to retire and just enjoy life.”’

Those listening to him nodded their heads in agreement, but wondered where he was going with it.

And then he said, “But then the Light tells him, ‘Idiot, you’re going to die tonight. Who’s going to benefit from everything you just planned? It won’t be you.’ This is everyone who banks money, food, and resources for themselves, but has no connection or communion with the Light.”

“Bah!” One of the sailors, an older, weathered human man with grizzled beard who looked like he had spent most of his life at sea who was listening scoffed. “What’re you sayin’, lad? That we shouldn’t save for the future? I ain’t sayin’ I don’t spend more than I should, but a man’s gotta have some security don’t he? That’s just common sense. Ain’t no one else gonna take care of you, that’s for sure.”

Jeshua looked at him and smiled genuinely. He then said, “Remember what happened in the north in Lordaeron decades ago. Think about the people in Stratholme and Andorhal. They were just going about their lives, eating, working, living. How many of them had saved up thinking they’d be okay? How many of them had full bank accounts? What good did their gold do them when the plague hit? Where is it now? Who owns their lands now? What good was their security to them then?”

The same sailor caught his tongue and chewed on Jeshua’s words. “I see what you’re sayin’ now. Yeah, I had family up there when I was a kid. No one suspected a thing til it was too late.”

Jeshua nodded at the man and then said, “This is why I’m saying don’t worry about how you’re going to live, what you’re going to eat, or what clothes you’re going to wear on your body. None of us knows what’s going to happen from one minute to the next. One day things are sunny and life is good. The next, it’s raining. One day you’re breathing, and the next you’re not, and you don’t know when it will happen. Life is more than your next meal, and there’s more to your body than the clothes you’re wearing. Think about the birds: they don’t plant fields, they don’t harvest crops, they have no grain bins or barns, and yet the Light makes sure they’re fed. How much more are you worth to the Light than just birds?”

“Well, I...” The sailor stammered. “I ain’t never thought of it like that, t’ be honest.”

As Jeshua looked around to those listening, including Amerian, Vasuuvata, and the Night Elf man whom they had brought with them, Syloren was his name, he realized that the concept that the Light could care about them had never occurred to them before.

What have the priests been teaching these people? He wondered to himself. Even though he had been raised in the Cathedral of Light every week, and had traveled the world, and knew the answer to the question, it stunned him that they could simply not have conceived of such a basic thing, that the Light cares about them. The Light is love itself.

Vasuuvata looked just as perplexed as the others at what he had said. Out of all of them, he had expected her to understand the best just because of her people’s close relationship with the Light through their experiences with the Naaru. It saddened him, and he resolved even more to show them what the Light was truly like.

He continued his teaching, “What good does worrying about any of this do? Which of you can add a single foot to his height from it? If you can’t even do this little thing, why do you worry about anything else that really matters? Here’s another thing, think about the wild flowers and herbs out there like the Peacebloom and Mageroyal. Think about how they grow. They don’t work hard. They don’t make bolts of cloth. But look at the colors they have! Even the king of Stormwind himself in all his pageantry is not dressed like a single one of these flowers. And if this is how the Light clothes the grass in the field, which one day is growing, and the next is cut and milled into ink or made into medicine, how much more will the Light make sure you’re clothed with what you need? Do you have so little faith in what created and sustains everything? So no, don’t chase after what you’re going to eat or what you’re going to drink. Don’t worry about it at all. Every race on Azeroth chases after more and more of all of it, but the Light knows you need these things. Instead, look for the Light’s will first in everything, and then everything you need will be provided to you when you need it. Don’t be afraid, because the Light wants to give you these things.”

“Why would the Light care about me or any of me mates?” The sailor asked. “Truth is, me and a lot o’ people feel like the Light abandoned us a long time ago and we’ve just been tryin’ to get by the best we can, uh… Brother.” He used the title usually given to a priest of the Light, though Jeshua had never asked for or wanted it.

“The Light doesn’t abandon anyone, my friend. It never has and it never will. People walk away from it. The shadows may rise. But the Light is always there, ready to shine on and in everyone who will trust it and commune with it.” Jeshua replied. “It’s always easier to lose faith in the Light when the Shadow rises around you, but that’s when you need it to shine the most.”

“So what do we do then?” The sailor asked, his expression pensive. There was something going on behind his eyes that appeared to be happening. Thoughts he’d never had before. “I’ve seen a lot o’ things I can’t explain, but I ain’t never been religious with anything before. All I’ve seen are the priests preening around the towns in their fancy getups. Seems like all they’re good for is healing folks when they’ve got the time and you’ve got the coin; with some of ‘em anyway. I mean, how does this work?”

And then there it was, a desire, a hunger for what the Light was trying to tell the man through Jeshua.

Jeshua looked at him intently. So much so that the man began to feel like he was looking not just at him, but deep into his very soul. This was a man who wanted more of what Jeshua had to offer.

“What’s your name?” Jeshua asked him.

“Jim Jacobson.” The sailor replied.

“Why don’t you come with my friends and I, Jim? Let me show you what the Light’s really like.” He told him.

Jim appeared to consider it even as several of the others of those listening went back to the bar and laughed off what Jeshua had been saying as nonsense. Finally he said, “What do I gotta do for that? I’ve got a little bit of gold saved up if you want it.”

“Let this life go, and come with me.” Jeshua replied shaking his head. “Sell what you’ve got, and give the money away to someone who needs it. For what the Light’s calling us to do, you won’t need your stuff anymore anyway.”

“Alright then.” Jim replied, surprised by his answer even though it had just been what the man had been teaching.

“What about me?” Another, younger man who made his living by fishing the waters around the harbor asked him. “Is that for everybody or just old Jim and your friends here? I want the kind of Light you’re talking about too.”

“What’s your name?” Jeshua asked him.

“Name’s Peter Haleis. I ain’t got much stuff to sell, but I can catch fish for you and any whoever you want.” He offered.

Jeshua smiled at him, a twinkle in his eye as he said. “I’m going to show you how to fish for the people themselves, Peter.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that, Brother, but okay.” Peter agreed. “My brother Andrew’s out at the docks with his pole. You mind if I go and tell him? He and I talk about this kind of stuff a lot and I think he might want to come with you too.”

“Absolutely.” Jeshua replied. “We can use all the help we can get.”

“For what?” Jim then asked, hearing the exchange.

“To show Azeroth that the Light hasn’t abandoned them, Jim. To show them the Light is here.” Jeshua told him, a passion rising in his voice for just a moment.

Jim thought for a minute and then smiled as he replied, reaching out to shake Jeshua’s hand, “I’m good with that, Captain. I’d like that a lot, actually. I think it’s about damn time.”

“Welcome aboard, sailor.” Jeshua quipped, shaking his hand in return.

* * *

Later that night…

The rain pounded the roof of the inn so hard that it could be clearly heard in the common room below which had been mostly empty. Outside, the wind howled and blew hard against the glass windows. Bad storms were common to Menethil Harbor, and came off the ocean frequently so few people paid it any mind. When this one came off the ocean sometime after sundown, no one gave it so much as a shrug.

Jeshua had said nothing, but the Draenei woman had seen that he was completely exhausted, and still not fully recovered from his impossible journey north from the human lands. Concerned for her teacher, Vasuuvata had spent some of the money she had earned from the sale of her wares and cart in Greenwarden’s Grove to rent a room for him for the night while the six of them—she, Amerian, Syloren, Jim the sailor, Peter, and his brother Andrew—all sat watching the fire and talking. She and Amerian told the other three men what had happened in Greenwarden’s Grove to Syloren and what Jeshua had done there, and what he had taught them in Darnassus, and his expulsion by the sentinels from there.

“I’m beginning to like this man more and more if even half of it is true.” Jim said giving a wide grin. “I can’t say I haven’t be thrown out of a few places myself. Glad to know he’s not a complete goody too shoes. Gives more hope for me with what he’s selling.” And then, more seriously he asked, “You really think this kid’s the real deal? I’m an old man, and at my age it doesn’t really matter if I go chasing after dreams or not, but...”

“If you had seen what we have...” Amerian began to tell him, an almost haunted look in his eyes.

“I took the demon’s pact in order to save Azeroth years ago and blinded myself to seal it.” Syloren told the human men honestly, pointing at his now whole and sound eyes which glowed with the silvery moonlight of his people. His own voice was reflective and haunted when talking about it. 

“I was Illidari, and felt the demon’s power course through me.” Syloren continued to tell his own story. “My one thought had been to destroy the Burning Legion and sacrifice myself to save our world. I gave everything I was to turn myself into a weapon knowing that eventually I would die in the attempt. When we finally triumphed over the Legion, and our master was sealed away to watch over the demon Sargeras, I found myself a hunter without anything to hunt. I hadn’t expected to survive the war, and yet there I was. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. For two years, I wandered from place to place, and I heard about my brothers, those like me eventually succumbing to the darkness within us. Some of them were the strongest I had ever known, and I knew it would only be a matter of time for me. And then the day came when I knew it was my turn to be put down. I… didn’t want to hurt anyone. I even prayed to whatever gods or Titans there still might be for help, to keep me from hurting anyone that didn’t deserve it and to die quickly. And then the darkness took me and I don’t remember what happened after that, but the next thing I knew I opened my eyes and I saw the Shan’do, clearly and without the spectral sight. I saw real colors I hadn't seen for countless years, and the faces of people who didn't look at me like a monster. My eyes had been given back to me, and the demon was gone! For the first time in a very, very long time I was free to go home to Dolanaar if I wanted. I was free to just live my life if I wanted. The Shan’do wanted nothing from me but to make sure I was okay. The war glaives I bore were left behind at that inn, and so was the Demon Hunter. I owe the Shan’do everything, and I intend to pay my debt, wherever he leads me, I will follow.”

The former Demon Hunter spoke with such sincerity and emotion that Jim couldn’t help himself but believe every word to be true.

It was then that Peter noticed a pool of water gathering on the floor of the inn just a few feet off to his left near the door. “Now where’s that coming from?”

The pace of the water picked up, and the six of them stood up from their chairs to see seawater pouring in from the doorway, picking up speed and volume as it did so. It soon began to fill the floor of the common room.

“What’s going on out there?” Amerian asked, never having seen a bad ocean storm before.

“Oh hell.” Jim swore, a look of recognition in his eyes as he stopped and listened to the sounds outside he knew he should have been paying attention to all along. “Damn, it’s a bad squall!” He swore again. “We need to get everyone to the upper floor and pray the inn don’t get washed away! Now!”

The veteran sailor had seen his share of bad storms at sea, and had been shipwrecked more than a few times because of them. He knew what kind of power the wind and waves had against simple man made structures. The sea could be an ugly, unforgiving bitch when she wanted to be.

“Go!” He shouted at the other landlubbers who just stood there, apparently not having processed what was happening, and the bartender who had been cleaning glasses behind the bar. “Get upstairs!”

His companions then unfroze and obeyed his order as did the bartender when they realized what he did. Most of the town was still covered in seawater which, because of storms like this one, no one had been able to dispel once the walls had been broken apart in the great cataclysm. It didn’t take much to add to the water which was already there, and when the sea finally rose and joined it…

“Damn!” Jim shouted as he followed them upstairs. “We could really use a good shaman right now!”

Upstairs, the noise from outside was deafening like a goblin train’s steam engine he had once seen. The wind outside blew so hard against the windows downstairs that the glass exploded inwards and water began streaming in through the openings.

Upstairs, what guests there were had already been woken by the driven pounding of the storm against the building. Many of them sailors themselves were panicked, and talking about finding their ships at the bottom of the bay if they survived it. 

“Any of you mates a Shaman?” Jim asked the others, knowing that some of the Shamans he had sailed with could call upon amazing control over the winds and the waters. “Any of you?”

The others there, terror in their eyes, shook their heads violently.

Looking them over, the only guest Jim didn’t see from earlier was Jeshua. Knowing there was a window in the teacher’s room he went and pounded on the door, “Hey, Brother!” He called out. “Brother, are you in there? Are you okay?”

When he didn’t get a response, he turned the doorknob and rushed in, thinking maybe the window had exploded in the room and the younger man had been hurt badly.

Instead, he found the strawberry haired younger man sound asleep, peaceful as though nothing could wake him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Jim exclaimed, almost angry at him for being able to sleep through a storm which could possibly finish what the cataclysm had started and finally take the inn off of its foundation and kill them all.

He rushed over to the bed where Jeshua had been sleeping and shook him awake violently, “Brother, wake up!”

Jeshua opened his eyes wearily and, seeing the fear in Jim’s eyes asked, “Jim? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Jim replied in disbelief. “The storm outside is going to wash this whole inn away and kill us all, that’s what’s wrong, Brother. If your Light cares for us as much as you say it does, and you’ve got the pull with it that your friends down there say you do, then do something!”

Jeshua blinked his eyes open wider and sat up on the bed. Jim had been expecting him to stand up and pray like he had seen priests do before, or maybe get down on his knees or something like that. He didn’t know how these things were done, and he didn’t care as long as they survived that night.

Instead, Jeshua stood up from where he had been sleeping without a word. Groggily, he then walked out of the room. Jim followed him only to see him walk downstairs, holding the railing.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Jim called out, rushing after him down the stairs and plunging into the rising water in the common room as Jeshua made for the entryway and then left the inn.

“ARE YOU FREAKING INSANE??!!!” Jim yelled after him as he fought his way to the entry way to try and bring the mad teacher back inside.

The water was up to his ankles and rising fast as he stumbled out into the pounding storm, water spilling into his eyes as if from a waterfall. He looked one way and then the other trying to find the man, wondering why he was risking his neck or even signed up to follow the crazy fool to begin with.

And then he spotted him, ankle deep in water not far from the inn near where the gryphon master usually kept his animals during his operating hours. Jeshua appeared to be completely calm, observing the scene intently.

And then Jim saw the thing he didn’t want to see beyond the insane teacher.

Out beyond the docks a massive wall of water had formed and was gathering speed. Water began to drain from the bay and rushed towards it, feeding a wave taller than any of the buildings in the town. A wave he knew had the power to reduce ships to splinters and end all of them in seconds.

“JESHUA!!!” He yelled after him instinctively. “GET OUT OF THERE!!!”

Jim ran towards the man through the water as best he could, not really thinking that his actions were pointless. His only thought had been to try and pull the younger man to safety.

“SHUT UP AND BEHAVE!!!” He heard Jeshua yell back, and then, “GO HOME!!!”

Jim pulled up short and shouted, “WHAT?!!!” He knew what he had heard but it had sounded so ridiculous, so offensive to him that he couldn’t believe it. 

Who does this kid think he is? Jim began to get angrier at the man.

But at that instant the rain stopped. The wind died. The tsunami which had been seconds from annihilating everyone in Menethil Harbor disappeared, and then the water began to flow backwards from the town back into the sea.

“What. The. Hell.” Jim swore slowly and deliberately as he watched the whole thing unfold, his eyes wide and unblinking.

And suddenly everything was calm. The sky above the sailor cleared and the stars shone brightly above. The docks and what dry land there had been were visible and in the same shape they had been in that morning. The water in the bay had returned to its rightful place as though chastened.

And then Jeshua turned back towards Jim and the inn. His face was tired, and he yawned.

“I ain’t never seen no Shaman do what I just saw.” Jim told him as Jeshua walked towards him slowly. “What just happened?”

Jeshua looked at him and asked, “Didn’t you hear what I told you earlier?”

“Yeah, but…but... This?” Jim responded, almost tripping over his words, and gesturing towards the open sea.

Jeshua took a deep breath and sighed. He then put a well meaning hand on Jim’s shoulder and told him good naturedly, “Didn’t I tell you not to worry about anything? We have a lot of work to do on faith, don’t we Jim?”

When Jeshua touched him, a peace washed over Jim as powerfully as the tidal wave had threatened to. It was caring and empathetic, and felt like an old welcome friend that he hadn’t seen in a long, long time. He wanted that peace, and wanted more of it. Tears came to the salty old man’s eyes as he said,

“Who are you, Jeshua?” He asked him as the younger man took his hand away.

But Jeshua didn’t answer him as he walked back towards the now dry inn. As Jim looked around the town, nothing appeared to have been touched.

“Am I crazy?” He asked himself. “Did all that really happen?”

When he returned to the inn himself to see the others, there must have been an expression on his face which explained everything he had seen, because the Night Elf, Amerian just said to his wordless question, “We know.”

The next morning, Jim dragged his footlocker from the ship he had been signed up on across the docks to the general goods merchant in town and asked, “How much you want for all this junk? I don’t need it no more. I’m going with Jeshua.”

After that, he went immediately to the house of a dwarf widow in town he knew who had two small mouths to feed and no money to do it with. She had been the wife of a dwarf he had known who had been lost at sea. Jim handed her the small sack which contained the few gold and silver coins the merchant had given him in addition to what little money he had already possessed. Her mouth was still hanging open when he left.

“You feed those two boys of yours with this. I’m going with Jeshua now so I don’t need it no more, Ellice.” Was all he told her.

I’m going with Jeshua. He kept thinking to himself as he returned to the new friends he had made.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 

A week later…

 

It was just after lunch time at the Dabyrie Farmstead in the Arathi Highlands. The sky overhead was gray, and the air was slightly chilled. The farm lay at the end of a dirt cart path near the foothills of the mountainous Hinterlands to the north. At the heart of it lay tilled fields now covered in young wheat which hadn’t yet ripened. At the eastern end of the property was a large wood barn weathered gray with age. This was the general state of most of the structures, including the small main house up on the hill overlooking the farm’s operations. At the western end of the property was a stable for the workhorses, and grain silos which weren’t as full as the Dabyries would like this time of year. The outbuildings and housing for the workers, mostly human and all of whom carried weapons of one kind or another on them at all times, were at a distance behind the main barn.

 

The farm had been left deserted after the scourge plague had reached the Highlands from Lordaeron decades before. The original family that had owned it had been taken by it, though there had been some rumors that they now numbered among the undead Forsaken. Regardless, the Dabyries had seen an opportunity and, after applying for ownership of the unused farm from the royal government in Stormwind that didn't recognize property rights past the death of the owners, set to work trying to restore and make it profitable again.

 

It wasn’t long after that the attacks had started. Workers went missing or were found dead. Messages and threats were found scrawled on doors and walls in blood. Animals were poisoned. Some of the workers the Dabyries had hired moved on quickly, figuring that the place was cursed, but the Dabyrie family dug in, and the Alliance army lent their aid as much as they could to protect the farmstead because it was the only local food source for their forces this far north. Everything else had to make the journey the hard way along the roads, and it was a long way from Ironforge’s supply stocks. It was even longer and more treacherous from Elwynn Forest’s farms. As such, the Dabyrie farm was a strategic asset the Alliance commanders didn’t want to lose with Hillsbrad and Southshore lost years before to the Forsaken in the west and the Horde controlled fort of Hammerfall and their production farm in the east.

 

Jeshua and his motley crew of six had been told of the farmstead’s immediate need for a healer by those at the Alliance outpost of Refuge Point. There had been a recent attack the night before and there were several of the workers that had been badly wounded, though no one had thankfully been killed. After hearing of it, he had offered to travel along the road to the farm the next morning, he having spent the night at the Alliance camp with his six new “apprentices.”

 

They had been walking north for just about a week after leaving Menethil Harbor. Jeshua knew there were faster ways to get north, but there was a lot he needed to teach the six who now followed him, and much more they needed to see and experience for themselves. He knew that the journey on foot would be so much more important in those days of travel than just getting to their destination. They would and had arrived just when and where they needed to, neither before nor after. This was another lesson they needed to pick up on.

 

It had only taken a couple of hours to walk to the farm, and once he was there, he set to work healing the vicious knife wounds the men and women had taken. Two of them had been very severe. They had stab wounds to the back and punctured lungs. It had been only the Light's will that the one wielding the knife hadn't struck their hearts directly. The others had deep lacerations and slashing wounds to their arms, faces, and chests. They had been fortunate that no one had died that night, Jeshua had seen professional assassin's work enough in the Broken Isles to recognize it here. His apprentices assisted wherever they could, checking bandages and changing them with whatever they had, but all waited patiently as Jeshua triaged those on the brink of death first.

 

Kenata Dabyrie, an attractive woman in her middle thirties with long raven black hair, fair skin, and cunning, intelligent eyes who was one of the owners of the farm along with her brothers, had repaid their kindness with a large meal for the seven strangers, giving intentionally flirtatious looks to the young healer when she could.

 

Afterwards, with her permission, Jeshua sat down under a large tree near the main house on the hill and began to teach his apprentices again and many of the workers came to hear what he had to say. Among them, Kenata Dabyrie who had found herself immediately taken with the strange but handsome, impoverished young teacher.

 

Jeshua was teaching them all saying, “ What you want done for yourself, do to those others around you.  W hatever  laws there are , are all summed up in this  one  saying, namely, ‘You  wi ll love your neighbor as yourself.’ Love doesn’t harm a neighbor. Love therefore is the fulfillment of  every law and religious command that may exist .”

 

One of the farm workers grunted at that and then asked, “Yeah, but what kind of ‘neighbor’ are you talking about? We've got a few that we'd rather do without.”

 

Some chuckles rose up from the worker's companions at this.

 

Jeshua began again to tell a story, “Years ago, long before the cataclysm severed the Barrens, an Alliance soldier from Theramore found himself lost there when he was attacked far from the main road by a Horde patrol that happened upon him. They beat him senseless, stripped him of his armor and anything valuable and, dragging him back to the highway left him bleeding and near death as a warning to others before they continued on back to their garrison. By chance, a certain priestess of Elune was riding quickly along the road trying to reach Thousand Needles before she herself was spotted. She saw the man, but thinking him just another corpse, she kept on riding, leaving him there. Not long after, a Paladin riding north from Duskwallow Marsh also saw the man, and even saw him take a breath, but being only a single Paladin with Horde patrols all around as was evidenced by the dying man, he left the man for the vultures and road on, hoping to make his own encampment by nightfall. More time passed, and the man was inches from death. As it happened however, a Tauren Shaman who was making pilgrimage to one of his people’s holy sites happened to see the man. When he saw him, his heart went out to the man and began to call on his own elemental magics to start healing him. But the man was so far gone, he knew it would take much more time than he could take there in the wilderness. He used what bandages and potions he carried with him, being trained in the healing arts outside of his discipline, and bound his wounds as best he could. He then picked the man up and placed him gently on his own kodo and led him to the nearest inn at Ratchet where he continued to care for him throughout the day. The next day, having to finish the pilgrimage he had started, he went to the Goblin innkeeper and paid him five gold pieces to pay for the human’s bed and board while he recovered and told him, ‘I’ll be back to check on him in a couple of days. If he isn’t alive and well by the time I return, you will answer to me, Goblin.’ And then he departed, certain that the Goblin valued his own life more than selling out the human to his enemies. Now, let me ask you this, which of these people acted as a neighbor towards the soldier?”

 

Most of those listening were silent, unwilling to acknowledge what Jeshua was saying. Though many had never met a Tauren themselves, many had also heard they were an honorable people regardless of their political affiliation, and so could say nothing against his story. For all they knew, he could have been told the story by the Tauren Shaman himself.

 

Finally, Kenata Dabyrie herself spoke up , “ The Shaman who showed mercy on him,  teacher .” 

 

Jes hua nodded to her and said , “ And this is what the Light calls all of us to do .” 

 

Jeshua then continued, though several of the workers now appeared dubious at what the young teacher was saying. “A lot of people demand eye for eye, tooth for tooth, and life for life, but this isn’t the Light’s will. Don’t resist the evil person; but even if someone slaps you on your right cheek, turn the left one to him too. If anyone takes you to court for the coat you’re wearing, give him your shirt too. If someone forces you to carry something a mile with him, go with him two.” Jeshua held up two fingers to illustrate his point before continuing. “Give to anyone who asks you, and don’t turn away someone who wants to borrow something from you. This is what the Light does for everyone who comes to it and it calls all of us to do the same.”

 

And then Jeshua went even further, in spite of their skeptical looks as he said, “People say , ‘ C are about your  friends ,  but  be sure to destroy  your enem ies .’”

 

At this one of the workers spoke up, “Absolutely right.”  T o the agreement of many of his comrades around him as they fingered the swords and daggers they wore on their belts.

 

And then Jeshua shook his head, “The will of the Light is to love your enemies, and bless those who curse your name. Do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who mistreat you and persecute you. Then you will really be acting as children and followers of the Light. Because the Light shines on both the evil and the good, and sends its nourishing warmth on the crops of both the just and the unjust.”

 

At this his glance fell on Kenata Dabyrie for just a split second before moving on.

 

M any of the men became visibly angry at the reddish blond haired, poorly dressed teacher. They had cut him slack up until this point because of the healing he had done for their friends and co-workers, but the teacher apparently didn’t understand what kind of monsters that had made themselves their enemies. 

 

“What the hell are you talking about?” One of them asked.

 

Kenata Dabyrie said nothing, but viewed the teacher with an appraising eye trying to understand his angle.  She had always had a good feel for people, how to motivate them, how to deceive them, and how to manipulate them to her advantage. Jeshua however was a mystery to her just yet.  Was he just a naive kid who didn’t understand what the stakes were? Was he sympathetic to the Horde? Or was he just some poor charl a tan who happened to have good healing skills? She didn’t know, but studied his face trying to learn the truth.

 

Jeshua kept talking. “If you love those who love you, what good does it do you? Don’t even thieves and swindlers do that too? If you only welcome your friends and those like you, what are you doing differently than anyone else? Even those in the Syndicate do that. The Light calls all of us to mirror its own perfection. The only person who is truly alive in the Light is the person who loves. The man who doesn’t love those around him gives himself to the Shadow willingly and is already dead. If you hate anyone, regardless of who it is, you’ve already murdered in your heart, and no murderer can commune with the Light without repentance because of the Shadow which he clings to. But everyone who loves and lets go of his hate lets go of the Shadow and is born of the Light and understands the Light’s very heart because the Light is love, and the person who doesn’t understand that doesn’t understand the Holy Light at all.”

 

“You want us to love those monsters out there?” Another of the workers then exploded at him. “Those walking corpses that snatch our friends in the middle of the night and knife us in the back when we’re not looking. We’ve been fighting those undead horrors for years to try and keep this farm running. I lost my best friend to one of those demons you traitorous fraud!!!”

 

Then Kenata spoke up,  her voice calm but authoritative , “Thomas, why don’t you bring our prisoner here and show him the face of our enemy. Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’s never seen one before.”  Her demeanor was of a woman who was used to being obeyed, and used to dealing with people who didn’t.

 

The man who accused him then stood up saying, “With pleasure, Miss Dabyrie.” He spat in Jeshua’s direction, his eyes dark and dangerous.

 

“Something you have to understand, Brother,” Kenata began, “We’ve been fighting for this farm for a long, long time. I lost my own uncle, my mother’s younger brother, when the Scourge overran Lordaeron. My parents first laid claim on it decades ago after the plague and the third war. I was just a little girl at the time when the undead came for my mother. I was named for her, you know. They took her head and left her body behind. A year later my father was found the same way. My childhood ended at thirteen, and we’ve kept fighting ever since.”

 

Jeshua said nothing in reply, but nodded, his eyes filled with the pain he knew she had been forced to endure for her brothers and she to keep the land her parents had claimed. No child should have had to witness what she did.

 

Thomas disappeared into the large barn for a brief time, and then emerged with two other men dragging something behind them. As they came closer, Jeshua and his companions could see it was human in form, neither lithe and thin like one of the Sin'dorei elves nor overly muscular and huge like an Orc, wearing torn leather clothes and bound tightly with thick cords so that it couldn’t move its arms. Wisps of dull black hair spotted its sickly green scalp which was itself torn so that the skull was exposed in several places, especially around the mouth where its teeth and jaw were clearly visible. Maggots dropped from rotted gaps in his arms where the bone was clearly exposed.

 

Jeshua stood up, his face serious, genuinely troubled and saddened at the sight. There was no judgment for either the men, or the creature the y hauled up to the main house.

 

The men dragged their prisoner up the hill and threw him down at Jeshua’s bare feet. Thomas spit on the Forsaken man for good measure before kicking him and shouting at Jeshua, “This is the undead bastard responsible for all those men you healed this morning, damned wishy-washy…”

 

“That’s enough, Thomas.” Kenata ordered the man silent, but did not apologize for him. Instead, she said, “We’ve kept him as ‘alive’ as we found him so he could tell us how many more of them there are out there, where their camp is, anything we can learn so we can end this once and for all.”

 

Jeshua didn’t look at the woman, but his eyes were fixed on the Forsaken man, taking in every detail. The outlines of maggots could be seen burrowing under what skin remained to his face as well. The flesh had completely rotted away around his knees and elbows, and bone could be seen clearly through the backs of his hands. His eyes were milky white and dead but moving in their sockets so as to take in everything around him. The stench of death was everywhere about him and wafted around the gathering.

 

“Maybe now you understand.” Kenata said, her tone still firm but not unkind.

 

But Jeshua didn’t answer. Instead, he knelt down in front of where the animated corpse lay on his side, his arms bound so tight ly he could not right himself. 

 

“What’s your name?” Jeshua asked him.

 

The corpse directed his attention at the pauper in front of him, a look of hatred and revulsion on his face. “What do you care? Do whatever you’re going to do and get it over with.” The creature spat at him.

 

Jeshua looked into his dead eyes intently. After a minute, he whispered to him so those around him couldn’t hear, “Mathaius Levi.” The name had just come to him, and Jeshua knew the man’s history then and there.  When he did, he  glanced up at Kenata briefly before  returning his  full  attention back to the man in front of him.

 

The Forsaken man replied, “How did you know that? What is this?”

 

Jeshua ignored the question and then asked him, “If you could have living flesh again, if you could have your life restored, would you, Mathaius?”

 

The corpse scoffed at him, “What difference does it make, fool? It’s impossible. No one’s ever been able to find a cure for us.”

 

“Would you?” Jeshua asked him again, patiently.

 

“What is he telling you?” Kenata asked, wanting to know what was passing between them, and not wanting to miss any valuable information.

 

“Yes, of course I would, there isn’t a one of us who...” Mathaius didn’t get a chance to finish what he was going to say because Jeshua interrupted him, placing a hand on his shoulder and saying gently, “Be cleansed, Mathaius.”

 

The corpse’s body exploded with light emanating from every section and he cried out for the burning, searing pain that it caused his imprisoned soul. Every inch of his skin, every bone, and everything that still remained within him felt as if it were on fire and his soul, bound by dark magics to the dead flesh was enlivened. Tattered, dead skin burned away and was replaced by whole, pale pink skin as from a newborn. Tissues knit back together. The gaps in his scalp closed and soft, new black hair grew across it. Pink fleshy lips grew across exposed teeth. New muscle, bone, and tendons grew and filled in where there had been none. In the embrace of the cleansing light, the cords had burned away, leaving the man’s arms free.

 

Then, in a matter of seconds it was over. The light receded. The corpse had vanished, and in its place was a young man of maybe eighteen with raven black hair. Five o’clock shadow dotted his boyish face. And then the man gasped, drawing in as much of a breath as he could into whole, sound lungs. The breath made his heart beat faster, and then he realized his heart was beating again. Something it hadn’t done since the Scourge overran Andorhal.

 

The young man had  shut his eyes  tightly from the pain thinking he was about to enter true death. And then he opened them. They were blue and trying to see what had happened to him. He brought his hands up to his face to see them. They were whole, strong, and healthy with a light dusting of black hairs on the backs.

 

Those around the two, Jeshua and the man on the ground, had fallen back in surprise, shutting their eyes tight when the light erupted to keep from being blinded. Many of them had seen what a priest’s  command of the Light could do to one of the undead, and none of them wanted to be consumed by it. 

 

When they opened them, they all backed away even further from Jeshua, crying out in surprise, anger, and, many of them, terror at what they saw.  When Kenata Dabyrie opened her eyes, her mouth dropped from shock and she turned pale as a ghost at the sight. Her right hand came to her mouth to cover it in disbelief.

 

Mathaius’ eyes teared up as he continued to stare at his hands. “What…? How…? How is this possible?” He asked Jeshua, looking directly into his green eyes. “What did you do to me?”

 

“The Light has forgiven and redeemed you, Mathaius Levi. Walk in it, and be free.” Jeshua told him tenderly.

 

Jeshua then stood up straight, and gesturing to the man kneeling on the ground he turned to those watching and said firmly, “Look now at the true face of your enemy. Take a good, long look, because it’s just like yours.” He then added, “Love your enemies, because they are no different from you.”

 

Off to the side, Thomas’ face turned from terror to rage as he shouted, “No! He’s still got to answer for what he’s done. I don’t care what magic you used on him to make him look like that. He still killed our men and he needs to pay for it!!”

 

The angry man then drew the saber he had kept at his belt and raised it, preparing to bring it down on Mathaius’ head when Kenata screamed at him, “THOMAS STOP!!! DON’T!!! PUT IT DOWN NOW!!!”

 

Immediately Thomas froze  in mid-swing , his muscles locking up at the woman’s command. For years he had lived under the woman’s orders and knew what happened to those who didn’t listen to them the first time. His body had learned to obey her  command immediately even when his mind hadn’t caught up yet.  The saber dropped from his fingers to the ground before he could process the thought.

 

Shoving Thomas aside,  Kenata then moved towards the man who had pushed himself up into a kneeling position on the ground. “Uncle Mathaius?” She asked tentatively.

 

Mathaius turned his head, tears had streamed down his healthy cheeks unchecked. “Do I know you?” He asked, looking at her.

 

“Um,” tears began to fall from Kenata’s own eyes, “Did you have a sister once? Her name was Kenata. Kenata Levi.”

 

“Kenata.” A look of recognition passed across his features. “My older sister. She got married and moved south before… before the plague. I remember. She had a little girl. You look a lot like her.”

 

Then the tears began to fall unchecked from Kenata’s own eyes as she said, “She was my mother.”

 

The rest of those around them just stared trying to come to grips with what had just happened. The man had been afflicted with undeath for almost thirty years.  No priest, no shaman, no healer of any kind had ever been able to restore one of those afflicted. Ever. Jeshua’s own companions stared in awe at what had happened, and then in wonder at the man they had chosen to follow.

 

Mathaius then turned his eyes back towards Jeshua and said, somewhat haltingly, “I… I don’t deserve this. I’ve done… I’ve done horrible things. The man is right to hate me. I attacked his friends. I’ve murdered so many others in the queen’s name I don’t remember how many. I don’t have anywhere to go now. I...”

 

“No...” Kenata said definitively. “No one is going to lay a finger on you here. I swear it.”

 

Just then more of her workers ran up the hill to see what had happened, including Kenata’s brothers.

 

“Kenata! What happened?! We saw this huge flash of light from down below!” Her younger brother, Marcel, asked, worry creasing his balded forehead. Then he saw the man kneeling on the ground in front of Jeshua.

 

“What happened here?” He asked again, his voice demanding.

 

But no one answered him a word. They didn’t know if they believed what their own eyes had told them. It just wasn’t possible, and yet the proof was staring at the healer Thomas had called a fraud.

 

Then Kenata looked from her brothers to the workmen, and then back to Mathaius and Jeshua and her mind began working. “ Damn.” She swore quietly, realizing what would happen if he stayed. “ Damn, damn, damn.”  Then, t ears still in her eyes she quickly said to Jeshua and his companions, “You have to take him with you. Now. Get him out of here. It’s the only way  he'll survive the night . Take him, and go!”

 

Jeshua nodded, then looking down at the man offered his hand to help him up to his feet. He then said, “Come with us, Mathaius. Let me show you  what the Light has in store for you .”

 

The formerly undead man,  having gotten to his feet, looked at him and then himself nodded and said, “Yes,” unable to say much more for the emotions running through him at the moment. Then he managed to say, “Thank you,”  a s well.

 

* * *

 

Farther south in Stormwind…

 

The aged Draenei man stood in King Anduin’s war room waiting patiently for his former student to finish with his aides. He had traveled to Stormwind by ship over the past week. He could have asked one of his people skilled in the arcane arts to create a portal to the human capital for him. It would have dramatically shortened the travel time at the very least, but then he felt it would be the wrong thing to do this time. He still needed time to process what the Naaru who had visited him had said, and to seek communion with the Light even as it continued to elude him.

 

Velen had traveled with a very small retinue. Two vindicators who had elected to be by his side during the voyage nominally as his bodyguards, though few would have seen the need. He felt it wouldn’t have been appropriate to draw more resources than that from the Exodar for this journey.

 

After all, it was a personal quest he was on. He represented himself alone in this endeavor, and not the rest of his people.

 

The royal chamberlain had brought the Draenei men directly to where Anduin had been, and announced them as protocol and Velen’s station demanded. But when the  golden blond haired, clean shaven  human king looked up from the maps he had been studying with his generals, Velen held up a hand and said, “Please, finish. I can wait.”

 

Uncertainly, Anduin nodded at his former mentor, and returned to the maps. To Anduin’s left had been Genn Greymane, the king-in-exile of Gilneas who, since Varian’s death, had become Anduin’s chief advisor and something of a surrogate father figure to the young monarch filling a recent void in Anduin's life, and the young man filling the hole in Greymane's life left by Prince Liam's death.

 

Of course every human in the room was but an infant in comparison to the many, many hundreds of their lifetimes he had drawn breath. They were such a young race, not even existent when his people left Argus but descended from the Vrykul flesh automatons created by the Titans who still roamed parts of Northrend. They had been forced to deal with so much in their short lives, and had proven themselves well against the impossible challenges thrown at them.

 

For the next few minutes, Velen caught snippets of conversation coming from the table. He knew neither Anduin nor Greymane would hide anything from him. Whatever military action they were planning would doubtless need the use of the Exodar’s own troops and supplies. That was the way alliances worked.

 

Still, what he heard troubled him as he listened to the details of movements of Horde troops through Kalimdor. Since returning from the bittersweet victory over the Burning Legion, both factions had agreed to stand down their armies. From what he had heard, Sylvanas Windrunner, Queen of the Forsaken and Warchief of the Horde, had not kept her end of the bargain. And, more disturbingly still to the aged Priest, neither had Anduin, his former pupil.

 

As Velen observed the human king, Anduin’s expression was serious and solemn, and there was a hardness that hadn’t been there when the man was younger and more full of hope. War did that to men, Velen knew from experience, but it pained him to see it happen to one who had been so fully dedicated to peace within the world he lived.

 

Finally, the gathering around the table concluded. Anduin then dismissed all of his advisers except for Greymane and left the table to greet his old friend.

 

“To what do I owe the pleasure? No one informed me you were coming.” Anduin told him, his face welcoming to the man.

 

“No, they wouldn’t have. I am not here on matters of state. I am here for personal reasons.” Velen told him honestly. He had thought through how much he should say of his experience in the Seat of the Naaru, and decided it would be best at the moment to say as little as possible. The message was meant for him alone. “I have a request to make.”

 

“Oh? All you need do is ask, my friend.” Anduin told him. “Anything if it’s within my power.”

 

“I am looking for a human man whom the Light has pointed out to me. I have been shown that he is here somewhere in the Eastern Kingdoms.” Velen began, trying to keep his story as simple as possible.

 

“What’s his name?” Genn then asked in a friendly but gruff manner.

 

“That hasn’t been revealed to me, but if what I have been told is true he wields a great command of the Holy Light like no one else before him. It is very important to me personally that I find out who and where this man is.” Velen replied.

 

A blank look passed over the human king’s features for a few seconds before he said, “That’s not much to go on. There are many powerful human Priests and Paladins on this side of the world. Even more, there are always rumors of impossible feats circulating around. Just the other day I heard one of the Keep’s maids telling a guard about a homeless beggar calling fire down from the sky and completely removing the demon’s taint from a Night Elf Illidari. It’s impossible of course, but stories like that are nothing new.”

 

“Of course.” Velen agreed, remembering a similar event with Illidan Stormrage that ended in tragedy for the Naaru that tried it. Nevertheless, something stirred within him upon hearing of it. “But if you don’t mind my asking, where was this supposed to have occurred?”

 

“In Khaz Modan,” Anduin told him, “Up in the Wetlands. But you can’t take any of those stories seriously. They’re just the untrained trying to explain what they don’t understand. They haven’t seen what we have.”

 

“Perhaps.” Velen responded, though within himself he determined that Khaz Modan would be his next destination. Although, he decided hiring a mage to create a portal to the Wetlands might be more advantageous this time than traveling by conventional means.

 

They spent some further time speaking, talking about events both professional and personal until it was appropriate for Velen to take his leave of them. In the end, Anduin offered him a guest room in the Keep for as long as he wished, and given his age and the long journey he had agreed to rest there for the night with his two protectors. He then left the war room and meant to find his way to the staterooms, but then somehow found himself down the hallway towards the atrium.

 

As he did, he passed a strawberry haired human woman, and a little girl child that looked much like her. They had appeared to have just come from the Keep’s library which he knew Anduin, and Varian before him, kept open for the common people’s use as well. Normally, he might not have even noticed them, but there was something about the woman that made him stop and turn to see which way they had gone.

 

_ Why do I feel like I need to speak with the woman? _ He asked himself.

 

Not understanding why, he followed after them down the hallway, though they moved faster than he could given his age. The Light had cared well for his body over the millennia, but it would not last forever and he moved slower than he had when a much younger man.

 

When he emerged from the hallway, he caught a glimpse of the woman taking the little girl down the palatial front steps of the Keep and into the bustling city.

 

I must make it a point to speak with her before I travel again. He decided before turning  back into the Keep’s interior to meditate on what he had just experienced.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

“I know what I saw, Marcel!” Kenata recalled her heated conversation in the main house with her younger brothers, Marcel and Fardel after the strangers had left. “It was mother’s brother, Mathaius. Dammit, I remember what he looked like before the plague! Mother used to bring me to visit him and grandmama! Don’t you think I’d know my own flesh and blood?! Damn it all!”

 

Kenata was shaking, though from anger or fear or something else she didn’t know.

 

“They hoodwinked you, Kenata. Use your head!” Her balding younger brother shot back. He rubbed his mustache with his right hand in frustration while gesturing at her with the other. “Magic users can do all sorts of things like that.”

 

“Don’t you think I know that? I don’t get hoodwinked!” Kenata had replied icily. “I do the hoodwinking, remember?!”

 

It was true. She had made her profits grow even under the constant threat they lived by selling grain and supplies to both the Alliance forces and the Syndicate thieves holed up in Stromgarde, both for market value of course. It didn’t matter that she was the only supplier in the region for either of them and so the market value was whatever she said it was. She’d sell to the Horde outpost of Hammerfall if she could get away with it, but they had their own farm to the southeast and didn't need her grain.

 

 _I don’t get hoodwinked._ The thought ran through her mind all that evening and through the night after her argument with her brothers. They should have known her better than that. Easy to fool Kenata Dabyrie was not, and how would the beggar priest have known what Mathaius Levi would have looked like in the first place?

 

She couldn’t sleep at all, laying in her bed covered in expensive soft windwool sheets from Pandaria with her eyes wide open replaying everything the homeless teacher said and did. Every time she tried to close her eyes she saw the Forsaken man bursting with light and her uncle’s face restored whole.

 

She had gotten out of bed that morning disheveled and exhausted just before dawn, but her mind refused to stop as it continuously analyzed every facet of what happened. She had seen the man’s bones and maggots with her own eyes. She had watched as her men tried to torture him (shuddering now as she realized who they were torturing) by running hot metal spikes through his dead flesh knowing that it couldn’t kill the undead man any further. It wasn’t a spell trying to hide a human. She was absolutely certain. And she knew that face. It had been etched into her memory decades ago. She had loved her uncle Mathaius. He took her to see jesters and clowns in Andorhal when she was a little girl and made up silly songs with her. She knew what he looked like very well, but no one today would have had any idea, not even her brothers who were too young at the time to have remembered anything from before the third war.

 

After her coffee and some tasteless eggs she cooked herself (never having been very good at it), she had decided on her next course of action. She had to know who the man was who had restored her uncle. She had to know she wasn’t crazy. She went to the worker’s quarters to find the men already getting ready for the day and found Jedidaiah, their resident mage still getting dressed.

 

If anyone should have been able to spot magical trickery it would have been Jedidaiah, yet he had been there too and had been just as convinced as she was. Using his tricks was a part of his role there when dealing with the Syndicate or Alliance forces. She also kept the man in her employ for when they needed something burned off in a hurry, or for when she might need to travel quickly to the south. This was one of those latter times.

 

“Jed,” She told him without even the pretense of asking politely, “Put your pants on quickly. I need to travel to Stormwind. We should be back around supper time.”

 

“Yes, Miss Dabyrie.” Jed replied, knowing the woman’s ways too well to take offense. “When do you want to leave?”

 

“Right now.” She told him.

 

 _I know what I saw._ She told herself again. _And I know it’s impossible._

 

* * *

 

Later that day in Stormwind…

 

After receiving the name of the woman who had passed him in the hallway in Stormwind Keep, Velen had gone back to the royal library with his two man retinue the next day and inquired about her and the little girl from the librarian, giving him the woman’s description.

 

“Who?” The librarian had asked, scratching his head. Then recognition lit in his eyes. “Oh, I know who you’re talking about, my lord. That’s Miriam Davidson and her little girl Sarah. She talks to me on occasion. Her husband has a furniture shop in the Trade District, uh, Davidson’s Furniture I think. They’re in here at least once a week. It’s a shame what happened to the oldest boy though. She told me about it once. He ran away years ago, and the family hasn’t heard anything since.”

 

Velen had thanked the man and left the library and then the Keep to walk out among the streets of the human capital. The truth was though, he had rarely ever stepped away from the Keep during his previous, more official visits, and it was a very large city, easily the size of what Shattrath in Draenor had been before that world had imploded and become the distorted world known as Outland. It had been Stormwind guards who had kindly led him and his companions from the docks to the Keep after he stepped off the boat that had brought him there.

 

The most visible structure in the city was the great Cathedral of Light whose spires rose into the heavens. It was the heart of the city and could be seen regardless of where you were, making it an ideal landmark for navigating the streets and districts.

 

Under the circumstances, Velen felt that he should go there first, and then visit the furniture store looking for the woman he felt he needed to speak with. If it had been the Light which had set him on this personal quest, then he felt he should perhaps pay his respects to the temple built in its honor here in Stormwind.

 

It had also occurred to him more than once that he needed to confer with his colleagues and fellow Conclave members. What the Naaru had revealed to him, though meant for him alone he felt, would hold meaning for them as well.

 

Using the main spire of the Cathedral as his guide, he and the vindicators with him walked the streets which lined the canals which ran through the city like arteries, crossing the bridges which connected the various districts until they found themselves at the foot of the Cathedral’s steps.

 

The Cathedral was a beautiful structure which the humans had built. It was far different in style to the temples and great sanctuaries his own people would design, but architecture was rarely an art form that developed identically between cultures. Still, he paused for a moment to appreciate the work which they had done to honor the primal creative force.

 

After that moment had passed, he ascended the steps and went inside, the vindicators trailing him respectfully.

 

The inside of the Cathedral was serene and peaceful. The very sanctuary induced contemplation and meditation on the Light’s mysteries and he felt himself being drawn once more towards it. He closed his eyes instinctively.

 

“I know what I saw, your grace.” A woman’s voice broke his contemplation. “How can you not know about this man?”

 

Velen’s eyes came open to see a raven haired human female off to the side of the sanctuary gesturing with her hands as she spoke with the High Priestess, Laurena. The woman wore a dark black and purple petticoat with an expensive white blouse underneath, and her hair had been hastily arranged.

 

Velen drew closer to hear what was being said.

 

“I don’t know what you saw, Miss Dabyrie,” the High Priestess replied calmly, “but we have been searching in the Light for a cure for the plague of undeath for decades and no one has ever found anything. The Light always destroys the shadow bonds between the soul and the corpse before it can heal or restore anything.” Laurena replied. “And the only ‘Jeshua’ I remember was a troubled young man who ran away from home years ago. His family hasn’t heard anything since.”

 

Then Laurena noticed her fellow priest and, turning aside from the woman greeted him warmly. “Velen, welcome to our Cathedral. I was unaware you were coming. What brings you here?”

 

“A personal matter, to be sure, though one I had hoped to discuss with you in time.” Velen told her in response. Something within him held him back from drawing her and the other high clergy aside just yet.

 

“Of course.” Laurena responded.

 

“If I may ask, what is the young woman’s trouble?” He inquired.

 

“She is a property owner in the Arathi Highlands who came to one of our brothers here at the Cathedral an hour ago with the most impossible story. Of course, we’ve had many of the commoners coming in with impossible stories in the last week.” The High Priestess replied.

 

“I have heard one of them; the cleansing of a Demon Hunter.” Velen related.

 

“Yes, and a man from Menethil Harbor claims that some homeless vagabond silenced a storm and stopped a tidal wave from destroying the town just by shouting at it. It’s hyperbole at best. Most likely a shaman intervened with a small squall of course.” Laurena told him.

 

“Of course, that would be the most logical explanation.” Velen agreed, though something within him disagreed vehemently. “What was the woman’s story if I may ask?” He then asked, gesturing to the frustrated human female.

 

“I know what I saw!” The woman then said in a raised voice at the priestess and having heard the exchange.

 

“I believe you do.” Velen told her patiently as he moved to stand next to the woman. “Though I have not heard it.”

 

And from looking into the woman’s eyes, Velen was hard pressed to discount her sincerity. He had seen eyes like her many times from those who had seen what appeared to be miracles performed by magic of some kind or another. He had also seen the same look from soldiers in the Broken Shore coming back from battles. They had seen things that would forever be etched in their mind’s eye. So had he.

 

“Please, tell me what you saw.” The aged Draenei told her gently.

 

And she did. She told him the whole thing from beginning to end from when the vagabond healer and his companions came to her property, from his teaching them there, all the way through what she saw happen to the Forsaken assassin, and then her recognition of the man’s human form afterwards.

 

“Tell me I’m not crazy, please.” Miss Dabyrie finally said. “You are the priesthood. You speak for the Light. How can you people not know this man is out there and can do these things?”

 

 _How indeed?_ Velen asked himself.

 

To the woman he said, “There are a great many things we don’t know, Miss Dabyrie, even about the Holy Light itself. The Light often surprises even the oldest and wisest among us, myself included. It has been more than once that it has revealed its truth through places I did not expect. I do not doubt that you believe everything you say happened. I have lived long enough to know it foolish to discount even a remote possibility.”

 

“What are you saying, Velen?” Laurena then turned to Velen in surprise. “Do you really believe such a thing is possible? How could we not have heard of it before?”

 

Velen paused for a minute thinking back to the stories he had heard since coming to Stormwind. There was a pattern to them that seemed more genuine than it should be, and a general direction that pattern was leading him in.

 

Finally he answered, “I have learned, especially over the events of the last war, that where the Light is concerned, more things are possible than I once believed them to be.” And then to the woman he answered, “Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Miss Dabyrie. I will look into the matter myself.”

 

“Thank you, your grace.” Kenata Dabyrie told him, relieved that the alien Priest had at least believed her. “I haven’t ever seen or heard anyone like this man Jeshua before, not from any Priest or Paladin I’ve ever met. There was a presence about him. Find him. You’ll see what I’m saying is true.”

 

 _I most certainly will._ Velen thought to himself.

 

* * *

 

In the Arathi Highlands…

 

The eight travelers on the road late that morning looked a strange sight. Their clothes were clearly worn and had been unchanged for weeks. They carried little in the way of supplies. One might have mistaken them for having gone on a short walk into town in a much more friendly southern province if the terrain had been more forested and there were fewer clear dangers in the hills and valleys around them. Two Night Elf men, one Draenei woman, and five human men all walking together in a group west towards the great wall of Thoradin which marked the boundary between what had been the kingdom of Stromgarde and the Hillsbrad foothills.

 

They had spent the night once more at the Refuge Point outpost before moving on again shortly after dawn. The commander of the outpost, a woman named Amaren, had commented that they seemed to have picked up another member of their party upon their return from the Dabyrie Farmstead. When she had asked about it however, Jeshua had merely smiled and commented cryptically, “The Light calls to everyone.”

 

Surprised, she responded, “Indeed.” And did not inquire further about the stranger in the dirty, torn leathers favored by the less than reputable that she did not recognize.

 

Though none of those traveling with Jeshua had ever been to that part of the world before any time in recent memory, they knew from the soldiers in the encampment that Refuge Point was the last truly secure Alliance outpost in the north outside of Aerie Peak in the Hinterlands beyond the mountains to the north. They had all heard stories from adventurers, traveling entertainers, and soldiers over the years. It was no secret what had happened in those lands. Only those Alliance citizens brave enough or foolish enough ventured any farther north or west than where they were. Many did not return to tell any stories at all.

 

But west along the road was where Jeshua was leading them. After a few hours they had come upon the turn off to another road that led directly north towards the mountains and the Hinterlands beyond which those same soldiers informed them of.

 

“Whatever you do,” They had been warned, “Don’t go any farther west than the road north. That’ll take you up to where the Wildhammer clan still keeps their aerie and strongholds. Otherwise, if the thugs in Stromgarde don’t get you, the Horde will at Thoradin’s wall. They patrol that gate heavily.”

 

But Jeshua, never taking his eyes off the road in front of him, walked straight past the safer road and kept going.

 

“Shan’do, aren’t we heading north to Aerie Peak?” Amerian asked him respectfully, stopping and gesturing towards the easily traversable hard packed road. “That is where the next friendly outpost is that Commander Amaren spoke of among the Wildhammer dwarves.”

 

The rest of his apprentices stopped as well, looking from Amerian to Jeshua and back again.

 

Jeshua then paused and turned round to face him, and the rest of his followers. “No, Amerian. I am going west into Lordaeron to find those that were lost there.” He replied. “That is where they need the Light most of all.”

 

“But those lands are filled with the plague still, Shan’do, and they are under Horde control. They will not be welcoming to any of us, even Mathaius now.” Amerian pointed out, fear creeping into his voice when he realized his teacher’s “mistake” had been intentional.

 

 _He can’t be serious_. Amerian thought to himself in that moment. _He’s got to know what kind of an insane risk that is. Surely he’s heard of Southshore and Hillsbrad._

 

“He’s right, Captain.” Jim spoke up as well. “Wouldn’t it be better to head north up to where them dwarves are? I even heard one guy talking ‘bout a High Elf lodge still up there and loyal to the Alliance. Otherwise, we could even try and get to Ironforge with the dwarves there. I’ve lived at sea for most of my life. I ain’t afraid of risk, but point is, I’m no seasoned warrior. I can throw a punch when I need to, but I’m not really much good against armor and swords, much less magic of any kind. None of us except Syloren and Mathaius here are really fighters, and I’ve heard enough stories to know it can get real ugly real fast.”

 

“And why would we be fighting?” Jeshua asked, his expression one of a schoolmaster trying to determine if a student had really been paying attention.

 

“Shan’do, we all heard what you said yesterday, and what you have been teaching us the entire time we’ve been with you on this journey.” Amerian told him. “But the Horde isn’t going to wait for us to turn our cheeks to them. We will be loving them while they tear us apart. Surely the Light must expect us to be pragmatic on certain things, doesn’t it?”

 

“Point is, Captain,” Jim spoke again, “How does it spread the Light if we’re all dead before we can open our mouths or do anything?” “We could be killed just walking up to the gate, not to mention walking through it.” Jim replied, not understanding why the young teacher wasn’t understanding their concerns.

 

“And I will be.” Jeshua then said. “Of this I am certain. I am going to die by their hands.”

 

Their faces twisted in concern and surprise at him. Several mouths hung open, others mouthed expressions of disbelief silently at him.

 

“What are you talking about, teacher?” Peter asked. “Why would you even head down that road if you knew that was going to happen? Why would you have even brought us with you?”

 

 _They don’t get it._ Jeshua thought, somewhat disappointed.

 

“This is a lesson you must all accept and understand.” He said, explaining. “If you try and keep your life safe, you will end up destroying it one way or the other. But if you sacrifice your life for the sake of the Light, then the ravages of time itself cannot destroy it. What is a life worth living if you have everything, but lose who you are in the process?”

 

“I don’t get it. What does that mean?” Andrew, Peter’s brother asked. “What are you talking about?”

 

He then took a tiny kernel of wheat he had collected back at the farmstead out of a pocket in his brown linen trousers and showed it to them. He then asked, “What happens to this seed if I just keep it hidden in my pocket safe and sound?”

 

“It just sits there.” Jim then replied to him, cocking his head to one side, not sure where this was going or what it had to do with anything. But then he never quite knew where Jeshua might take something and it always turned out good. Not what he expected, but good anyways.

 

“It just sits there. It remains by itself, alone. Eventually, it may never be good for anything but no one will ever know.” Jeshua responded. He then bent down and dug a small shallow hole with his finger in the dirt by the side of the road and put the seed in it, pinching it shut again.

 

The next thing they saw was a plant sprouting from where Jeshua had just planted the wheat. They all kept their eyes on the green, grasslike stalk as the wheat plant grew tall and strong in a matter of seconds until it began to produce a full head of grain which ripened as they watched.

 

Amerian in particular had seen similar things before with the Druids among his people, but never from anyone else.

 

“How much grain is there now that the first seed has been sacrificed?” Jeshua asked.

 

At first, none of them moved or offered any reply. Then Jim hesitantly walked up to the plant and began to try and count the kernels like Jeshua asked. After a short while, he gave up and said, “There’s got to be dozens at least, Captain.”

 

“Now do you understand?” Jeshua asked. “I go to sow a new crop in Lordaeron. One that will produce an unimaginable harvest, and I need workers to till those fields and be ready when the harvest comes.”

 

He looked directly at Mathaius Levi when he said this before returning his gaze to Jim, then to Peter, and then finally Amerian.

 

He then asked them all, “Do you trust me? Will you come with me to see these fields which have lain fallow for so long finally tilled, planted, and harvested?”

 

“I don’t know about the rest of them, teacher,” Mathaius then spoke up after remaining silent this entire time, “but I’ll go back with you.”

 

The others turned their attention to the formerly undead man.

 

“I was dead for a long, long time. I didn’t have anything to hope for. All I felt was hatred for you and those like you. I stared into the Void every day knowing that was what awaited me. Now, look at me.” He gestured to himself, showing his living hands to them. “I don’t know how long I'll have it, but I know who gave it to me. How can I not go with him?”

 

“I’ll go with you too.” Syloren spoke up. “I should have died. That was the pact I made. The Shadow should have taken me when I couldn’t control the demon any longer. The Light should have been lost to me too. I’m only alive now because of you.”

 

Then Jim spoke up as he remembered what he saw the night of the storm. “Yeah, Captain, I trust you.” He was still trying to understand Jeshua’s lesson. “I said I’m going with you and I meant it. If that takes me into the middle of the Undercity itself, I guess that’s where I’m going. I’m with you.” Then turning to the others he asked, “You all going to follow the Captain’s orders, or are you gonna mutiny now when the seas get a little rough? After everything we’ve seen?”

 

Amerian wrestled with himself further. He hadn’t signed up for this. If he had known where Jeshua was leading him, he never would have left the comforts of Darnassus. Travel and seeing the world, discussing philosophy and metaphysics, that was one thing. But then, no one could do what Jeshua did. No one. And no one spoke as Jeshua spoke. No one had ever inspired him in the way the young human had or gave him the peace which Jeshua did.

 

_What is my comfortable life worth? What have I really done with it? What difference has my life made in the millennia of my own existence in comparison with the few short years this human has walked Azeroth? Do I want more of the Light Jeshua brings to me? Is it worth the risk?_

 

 _Yes._ He decided looking at his Shan’do. _Yes it is._

 

Amerian straightened himself up. His indecision had left his expression and he nodded at Jeshua. “Where you go, Shan’do, I will follow.”

 

The other three affirmed their own willingness to continue with Jeshua as well.

 

“Then we go west.” Jeshua then told them, and continued walking towards the great wall rising in the distance beyond them.

 

They walked for hours until the sun had already risen high overhead and passed into its downward arc, stopping only to rest and eat some bread and dried meat for lunch which they had obtained from the provisioner at Refuge Point for what few silver coins Vasuuvata had left in her purse. Divided among eight people, it didn’t seem like it should have but somehow it stretched until each had eaten enough to keep going, though there was none left afterwards, and none of them knew from where they would obtain their next meal.

 

As the wall drew closer, Mathaius came up to Jeshua to talk to him. “Teacher, I’ve been thinking. It may not be necessary to enter the Hillsbrad Foothills through the main gate. The others are right, it is too heavily guarded and my people’s main camp overlooks the road leading up to it. They will attack us without asking questions.”

 

The truth was, Jeshua knew it too, and hadn’t known what the solution might be. But he had to trust the direction his sire was leading him. He had to trust that there was a solution. Every word he had spoken he knew was true, even if he didn’t know all the details himself at the time.

 

“I’m listening.” He told the former assassin.

 

“There’s a gap in the wall just a bit farther north where the stone has eroded away. It’s rarely patrolled by my people and large enough for a Tauren to slip through. I know where it is. We should have no trouble if we leave the main road soon and veer northwest.” Mathaius replied.

 

“That’s a good idea. I wouldn’t have known anything about it if you weren’t here.” Jeshua told him.

 

“Our bigger concern after that will be finding a place to make camp after sundown. The region just beyond is near the old Orc internment camp at Durnholde. There aren’t any patrols around there, but the woods are infested with owlkin, wild gryphons, and other beasts.” Mathaius continued.

 

“What do you suggest?” Jeshua asked him.

 

“To be honest, teacher, I don’t know offhand. There isn’t really any _safe_ place for us past the wall.” Mathaius admitted.

 

“Then we trust the Light to be our shield as well as our guide.” Jeshua replied knowing this was the truth of it, though none of them could see it yet.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 

In the Hillsbrad Foothills…

 

The sun had descended into the western mountains when Jeshua and his companions made camp after crossing through the gap in the wall. The formerly undead assassin led Jeshua and his other students through the ancient fortification known as Thoradin's Wall far from the Horde movements as the light receded. True to Mathaius’ word, there were no patrols near the great cracks in the crumbling stone edifice. The orange glow of campfires and smaller moving lights which could only be oil lamps could be seen burning to the south near the gate.

 

“In my line of work you get to know the pathways everyone else forgets about. You find ways of making yourself unseen.” The assassin had told them after they stopped. “I mean, what I used to do before I met you.” A haunted look had filled his living eyes. “I- I don’t want to do that anymore.”

 

They made camp near the top of a high rocky hill not much farther beyond the wall. From there could be seen much of the valley of the Hillsbrad Foothills leading into the Alterac Mountains. Directly beneath them to the west they looked on the expansive ruin of Durnholde Keep. Once it had been an internment camp for Orcs after the second war between them and the Alliance peoples. It had been notoriously run by an immoral and ambitious man named Blackmoore. Following the third war, and the resurrection of the Horde under Warchief Thrall, it had been occupied by members of the Syndicate organization as a base of operations for several years until the Forsaken took complete control of the Foothills with the fall of Hillsbrad and Southshore. Now, as the sunlight dimmed, Jeshua and his followers could only see dim, unearthly, haunted glows moving around in different parts of the ruins.

 

“They’re elementals.” Mathaius had told them. “They drove the rest of the gang members out after the Cataclysm and haven’t given ground since. Every once in a while some poor fool wanders in trying to prove himself. They don’t usually wander back out again. None of my people even risk going in. The ruin’s not worth the effort. Best to stay clear of Durnholde.”

 

The evening grew dimmer until the stars came out and shone brightly over the evergreen woods they could see from the hill top. Eventually, the White Lady which the Night Elves venerated as Elune, rose in the sky illuminating the region with her soft silvery light. To the west, the stars and the White Lady shone down upon a river which snaked its way from Darrowmere Lake in the north to the Bay of Baradin in the south. To the northwest could also be seen strange purple and green lights and the shapes of buildings like a town. To the south lay the sea far off in the distance.

 

As the companions attempted to settle in, the temperature around them began to fall just a little faster. The day had been cool, but not cold. The night in the northern climate, however, became uncomfortably cold and moist out in the open air. Around them there on the hill were sticks and fallen branches from the trees. Jim then felt around in the pockets of his own trousers and came up with his flint for making a small campfire. Pulling a knife from his boot, he set to work arranging some loose rock into a small ring, and then used some of the fallen wood to make shavings of the sap filled evergreen wood for tinder.

 

“What are you doing?” Mathaius asked him. “Are you crazy? That’ll act like a beacon for every Deathguard in a ten mile radius.”

 

Without hesitating, Jim continued to work on his campfire as he replied, “Then let’s hope they think we’re a bunch o' Orcs on a camping trip. It’s gettin' cold, kid, and on a night like this it’s probably gonna get colder. Ain't none of us have heavy enough clothing for this kind o' thing. The air’s gonna get damper too. At best, we all might catch colds 'n won't be fit for anything. At worst, we may need the Captain to call us back from the dead and hope he wakes up in time to notice.”

 

Jim gestured back towards Jeshua with his thumb as he said this dryly.

 

Jeshua smirked in response. “I am a heavy sleeper.”

 

“See?” Jim continued, returning the smirk. “Besides, we’re pretty high up and at night from a distance could be mistaken for anyone if the fire’s seen, and I ain’t plannin’ on signalin’ Stormwind with it. Just big enough to keep us all warm and dry tonight.”

 

Mathaius shivered even as he responded to Jim, “Who are you calling kid? I’m probably just as old as you are.” He realized the air temperature was becoming difficult for him to bear as well.

 

The former assassin had forgotten having to be concerned with how hot or cold the air was, or whether it was too wet or too dry, or even whether he needed to be able to breathe it. He had already been dead. What more could the environment throw at him? But now he had skin, blood, and a beating heart, and everything which went with taking care of them.

 

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. You look so much like a wet behind the ears greenhorn, I forget how old you really are.” Jim replied and kept building his fire.

 

Mathaius shook his head and silently prayed the salty sailor was right about the patrols paying no attention. They _were_ pretty high up the hill, and the patrols didn’t usually care about the wilder regions of the Foothills because of the high chance of any living flesh becoming a meal for its more beastly denizens; owlkin, bears, and wild gryphons all called this forest home. It had been sheer chance that they themselves hadn’t run into anything carnivorous looking for a quick meal.

 

High overhead, the shadow of something large with the outline of bat’s wings passed across the moon in the sky. Mathaius thought it must have been one of the riding bats flying towards Tarrin Mill, the town across the river to the northwest and paid it little mind. The riding bats flew all the time to and from the town.

 

Truth was, Mathaius didn’t really know what the human priest, and he was certain that must be his discipline, really expected to accomplish there or why he had even come. He had been sincere in his willingness to follow him back into lands that were now hostile to him. Death hadn’t held any terror for him for almost thirty years, and didn’t really now. He owed Jeshua not only his own beating heart, but the chance to pass into the Light that for so long had been taken from him. But that said, he didn’t understand what the young teacher’s plan was.

 

Jim lit his fire with his knife and flint and the shavings took quickly for the sap in them, filling the air around them with a scent almost like incense. The fire grew as he carefully added twigs and smaller sticks until the fire was large enough and they all drew around it for warmth.

 

And then Jeshua, sitting in front of the fire, began to tell them another story.

 

“What is the Kingdom of Light like?” He asked. “At one time there was a goblin of modest means that lived in Azshara. One day he went for a walk, trying to think of a business opportunity to enrich himself. Walking along he tripped over a rock. When he got back up, he turned around and studied the rock which was jutting out of the ground. Then, he realized it was a chunk of Truesilver that was embedded in the ground. He then began to dig around it to try and collect what was there and make a profit off of it. But the deeper he dug, the larger the rock became until he realized it couldn’t be dug up at all, but was just the tip of a huge underground vein of the metal that would require mining rights and equipment. Not one to be deterred by such a little obstacle, and seeing that the land it was sitting on was unclaimed as far as he knew, he did some quick calculations and figured out how much it would cost him to excavate it. He then filled back in what he had dug up and hid the outcropping under some worthless rocks until he could come back to it. Coming up with a number, he immediately went and sold everything he owned, took the small bag of gold from the proceeds and bought all the seemingly worthless land around the outcropping, estimating how large the vein was, and with what was left bought the equipment he needed to mine the precious metal himself. Well, the other goblins who saw what he did thought he was crazy and laughed at him because they thought the land was worthless. He then worked day and night to bring up the metal, refine it, and then sell it at the local auction house to the highest bidder. So is everyone who searches the depths of the Kingdom of Light within themselves and submits to it.”

 

He continued to speak like this around the campfire for the next hour until the flames died down and everyone was too tired to stay awake.

 

* * *

 

Back in Stormwind…

 

Velen had much on his mind as he looked out the window at Azeroth’s primary moon the humans called “The White Lady.” He had seen many such celestial bodies in the Draenei’s exodus from Argus and journey through the great beyond, though there was something truly inspiring about this one the Kaldorei associated with their goddess, Elune.

 

He had spent most of the early part of the day and past noontime conferring further with the High Priestess and her clergy in the Cathedral about the rumors now surrounding the unknown man Kenata Dabyrie called “Jeshua.” After leaving the Cathedral earlier in the day, she had gone to a local tavern and, after several drinks, had told everyone in the Pig and Whistle what she had seen the day before. The story spread like a wildfire across the city, even more so for its impossibility, and merged with the previous rumors involving the Demon Hunter and the storm at Menethil Harbor.

 

It was true that they had neither counseled her to keep it quiet, nor had they outright forbade her. Laurena had in fact just believed, perhaps naively, that this story would die quickly for its ridiculousness. Velen himself had underestimated the humans’ propensity for gossip. In a city of three hundred thousand souls, the story had spread to every maid, schoolboy, and tradesman by the time the evening meal was to be served at King Anduin’s table alongside Genn Greymane, to which he himself had been invited.

 

After conferring with the human clergy, the hoary headed Draenei man then made his way into the Trade District, drawing no shortage of stares from the local people, and attempted to locate Davidson’s Furniture. When he did by the third hour after noon, he inquired after Mrs. Davidson from the owner, a man named Joseph.

 

“You’re very welcome in my shop, your grace.” The man had told him, using a formal human title for a high priest or bishop. “How can I help you?”

 

He had briefly glanced around the business, taking in perhaps what kind of a man he would be speaking with. What he saw was a well kept shop with a fine dusting of wood particles here and there. The furniture for sale appeared well made, polished, and sturdy. Pieces sat next to one wall with tags on them, the names of their buyers written neatly in a block lettering. Behind the man had been a workroom where two younger men, boys really, appeared to be sanding and polishing a set of wooden chairs with ornately carved backs and upholstered seats.

 

The man himself had heavily calloused hands that still appeared quite strong. His dark hair and beard was appearing to gray in spots, though it blended in well. His red work shirt and worn blue overalls stained with polish and ground in wood dust told of many days of working hard at his craft. His face and eyes appeared to be honest and in good spirits, though there was a sadness that life had brought to them as well.

 

“I am looking for a human woman I saw with her daughter the other day in Stormwind Keep. They had been visiting the library. I was told her name was Miriam, and that I might find her here.” He explained plainly to the man.

 

“Miriam?” Joseph had asked, surprised. “Uh, she’s not here your grace, although she should be back in about an hour when we start locking up for the end of the day if you’d like to come back.”

 

Then, a look of concern began to replace the surprise. “Can I ask what it’s about? She is my wife.”

 

Velen hesitated for a moment, but then realized the man’s request was only natural, and if he was her husband than it would have concerned him too.

 

“Of course, that is only fair after all.” Velen replied. “It concerns a man named Jeshua I have heard of recently. I was hoping to speak with her about him.”

 

Joseph’s whole demeanor changed at the mention of Jeshua’s name as a range of emotions flashed across his face from shock to anger, and then from anger to fear, and then from fear to what Velen interpreted as a kind of hopeful longing as only a father could. He recognized this latter emotion because he knew that longing very well himself, much to his own personal tragedy.

 

“Jeshua?” Joseph replied, his voice cracking as he repeated his name. “What…? Where is he? You know where our son is?”

 

And there it was. One of the answers he was looking for. “Perhaps. I do not know for certain if it is the same person. But there have been many stories circulating about this man within the city today, all of them beyond believability. You say that Jeshua is your son? He was born to you?” Velen asked.

 

“Yes. Well… no, not exactly. His mother and I married when he was still a baby, but I’ve always thought of him as mine, even when he… uh...” At this, the man’s eyes began to water, and he fought back the tears which threatened to erupt. “Even when he left. We haven’t heard anything from him since he was twelve. I had given up hope. I’m sorry, your grace.” Joseph then said as he turned away from the Draenei man and covered his eyes with his hand briefly. “Give me a minute please.”

 

 _So not his physical father, but raised by him as his own son._ Velen thought to himself, empathy stirring in him for the pain the man bore. Velen reached out a hand and called on the command of the Light he still possessed to send peace and comfort into him to soothe his pain.

 

“Thank… thank you for your kindness.” Joseph told him. “Have you heard from him then? Is he well? Is he in trouble?”

 

“Honestly sir, that remains to be seen.” He told him, and then added to the man whose grief had been awoken again, “But the Light heals all those who allow it to shine on them, and its will is perfect.”

 

He wasn’t sure he believed those words himself anymore, but they had the desired effect and the man looked comforted.

 

And then Joseph said, “Jeshua always did have a special connection to the Light. One Miriam seemed to understand but never told me why. Maybe I should have asked more questions, but all I ever wanted to do was love them both and give them a home. I...”

 

“Did what the Light called you to do.” Velen finished for him, not even certain where the words themselves had come from, but they seemed right. “That is all anyone can be asked.”

 

“Thank you again.” Joseph told him. He then added, “Sometimes she likes to take Sarah into the Mage’s district. Our little girl likes to watch the magic users practice their arts when she’s not reading. She’s a smart one like her mom is. They might be there.”

 

“Thank you, sir.” Velen had told him, then taking his leave.

 

“Your grace?” Joseph then called behind him.

 

Velen then stopped and turned, “Yes?”

 

“If you find him, would you let us know? At least to let us know he's alright?” Joseph asked him.

 

Velen considered this and then nodded slowly as one father to another. “I will indeed, sir.” He replied, and then left the shop.

 

The Mage’s district of Stormwind was not far across the canals on the west side of the city from where the Davidson’s shop was kept. Velen and the vindicators who followed him across the bridge and through the gateway into the twisting and turning quarter of the city most of its magic users of every stripe called home. Still not being familiar with the maze like city pathways, he followed the line of shops and violet roofed row housing built into the walls to the right and continued up and around the circular pathway looking for the strawberry colored human woman and her daughter.

 

The Draenei moved up along the paths, passing many shops, homes, and establishments, but Velen did not see the woman from the Keep. They then passed in front of a large archway built into the wall. The opposing opening led to a brick and cobblestone platform that overlooked Lion’s Rest and the sea beyond it. Large black banners with green Illidari sigils had been posted to either side of the archway’s entry.

 

 _The Illidari mission_ , Velen realized. He knew they maintained a diplomatic presence in Stormwind like they did in Orgrimmar even long after the war had been over, but he had never seen it personally. In truth, it resembled little more than a hole in the wall which had been set aside for their use as opposed to an official embassy, but then the Illidari themselves were more than controversial figures.

 

Velen then paused and stopped. Something seemed off about it. Then he noticed, there were torches in wall sconces, but they were not lit. There were braziers at the far end, but they too appeared to be cold. There was no one present in the archway at all.

 

“Those are Illidari banners, but where are the Illidari?” One of the vindicators had questioned.

 

His companion had been right. Especially with the incidents which did happen with their people, it seemed a poor time for the Demon Hunters to abandon their diplomatic availability.

 

A Stormwind guard on patrol passing by noticed the Draenei interest in the Demon Hunter’s alcove and must have observed the looks of confusion on their faces because he stopped and told them, “All six of them up and left this morning without any explanation. Began making my rounds not long after sun up and everything appeared to be normal. When I came back around a couple of hours later the place was empty.”

 

Velen nodded his thanks at the guard who then continued onwards.

 

 _They were always unpredictable, much like their master._ The Draenei man mused, remembering his final conversation with Illidan at the seat of the Titan pantheon. The great betrayer had ultimately proven the kind of man he was once and for all, sacrificing himself one last time to keep his world safe forever. _Always unpredictable indeed._

 

Not finding the woman or her daughter, they had returned to Stormwind Keep where Greymane’s and Anduin’s dinner conversation turned to recent skirmishes between Horde and Alliance troops once more in Ashenvale, the Stonetalon Mountains, and the Arathi Highlands. They wanted to discuss troop movements and numbers, and Anduin seemed more and more like a man he didn’t know, the hardened look in his eyes never leaving, especially when the name of Sylvanas Windrunner was mentioned. It had been her betrayal at the Broken Shore which had cost his father his life, as well as the lives of many other good men like Tyrion Fordring, the Paladin Highlord.

 

Perhaps Velen was just getting old, but the talk of military matters and of old hatreds left a sour taste in his mouth. _Didn’t we just end one war? How many good people did it cost us? Do we have to start another so soon?_ He had excused himself and retired early, once again taking up the question of the man Jeshua. Eventually, he would need to see the man for himself he knew.

 

“Who are you, Jeshua?” He asked aloud.

 

* * *

 

In the Hillsbrad Foothills…

 

Syloren’s sharp ears caught the sound of feet attempting to shuffle up the hill first. He woke with a start though his hunter’s reflexes honed over the years of his being Illidari remained perfectly still, instinctively waiting and listening for his prey. It sounded large, stealthy, and two legged, and there was more than one. His eyes flew open and he woke Mathaius, the only other man with them with any fighting experience. He had been sleeping closest to the dying fire when Syloren immediately pressed his left azure hand to the man’s mouth, his right pressing his index finger to his own lips. He made a hand sign for two, maybe three, humanoids and then pointed down the hill.

 

Mathaius’ heart started racing. As slowly and quietly as he could he sat up to get a better look down the hill.

 

As he did, a dead corpse’s face flashed in front of him, a long wicked knife held in decaying bony hand raised to strike.

 

He knew the rotting face well.

 

“THADDEUS STOP!!! He shouted instinctively, his hand going up to catch the undead man’s wrist in self-defense.

 

Everyone’s eyes then popped open to see four Forsaken men wearing worn out black leather jerkins carrying long knives rushing at them and surrounding them from three sides. It was clear they expected it to be an easy kill. They only stopped in surprise when hearing one of the humans call out the name of one of their own.

 

“What?! Who are you, Alliance scum! How do you know my name?” The undead assassin questioned, backing off of his quarry only slightly.

 

“Thaddeus Jude, it’s me, Mathaius! Mathaius Levi! I last saw you three night ago before I left to hit the Dabyrie place again.” Mathaius told him. “It’s me! I swear!”

 

“Mathaius?” Thaddeus questioned in confusion, anger in his expression. “The only Mathaius I know is Forsaken like us. He was captured and killed by those sword wielding, thieving farmers. He was my friend.”

 

“Listen to my voice, Thaddeus. I’ve known you for twenty years. You came from Corin’s Crossing. You had a sister before the plague, Marian. You used to talk about her sometimes. It’s me, Mathaius, I swear!! That man over there restored me!” He then told him, pointing to Jeshua who was on his feet like everyone else now. “He gave me back my living flesh. Look at my hands and my face! You want it too! I know you do, you’ve said as much to me!!”

 

“That’s impossible!!” Thaddeus shouted. “And a pitiful story to use! I don’t know how you know what you do, but nothing can cure the undeath!!”

 

“Look at my face, Thaddeus!! Really look at my face!! It is me, Mathaius!!” The man almost pleaded with him, though there didn’t really appear to be fear in his expression, but sorrow.

 

One of the other Forsaken men then trained his dead eyes on Mathaius’ features and studied them. After a minute, he said, “He does sort of look like him, Thad. We may need to take them to Tarrin Mill just in case. We can always gut them and send their bodies to Deathknell later. It’ll make it easier if they can still walk on their own anyway. Don’t know about the Night Elves and Draenei though. It never works with them. Maybe we should just do them here.”

 

The one called Thaddeus stared at Mathaius long and hard, a look of hatred across his features. Then he turned his own milky white eyes to the more blue skinned members of the group. Finally, he decided, “No. Not yet. I doubt it, but they may have good intel we can use on troop numbers for the Dark Lady. We’ll get it out of all of them at the Mill and then ship them off to the boneyards.”

 

Looking them over, Thaddeus added, “Don’t worry about getting Deathguards. They don’t look like they can put up much of a fight, but if any of ‘em run, drop ‘em.”

 

Jeshua’s followers looked between him and the Forsaken men in terror. Their expressions were pleading with him, _Do something! They’re going to kill us!_

 

Jeshua then spoke up and said, “We’ll come willingly, there’s no need to harm any of us here. As you said, it would be easier to let us walk then carry our corpses.”

 

The eyes of his apprentices went wide with shock as they looked at him. He tried to return a comforting smile and nodded at them to follow along.

 

“Huh, the leader’s got some shred of sense. That’s refreshing.” Thaddeus scoffed. “Does make it easier anyways.” He then motioned with his knife for the men to start walking.

 

Overhead, another large bat winged shape flew across the moon’s light keeping most of its form hidden in the shadows against the bright silvery object in the sky.

 

The Forsaken Rogues marched them all the rest of the night without stopping. Towards dawn, the dark shapes of buildings the eight didn’t recognize arose as the undead town of Tarrin Mill took shape in their exhausted view. Rebuilt from the old human settlement of the same name, the older houses, the inn, the small chapel, and trade store had been rebuilt and repurposed by the Forsaken for their own needs.

 

None of the companions spoke on their long march. The expressions of virtually all of them were pained and fearful. All of them, that is, except Jeshua’s. His expression was serious, but calm. Often he appeared to be looking at the one leading the procession; the one that Mathaius had called Thaddeus. When he did, his face appeared saddened and pained, but not scared.

 

The first one to notice Jeshua’s lack of fear in the situation had been Amerian. His first instinct had been to run, but he couldn’t. His worst fear had been realized and it froze him so completely that he could do nothing but stand there paralyzed and unable to move until the reddish blond haired human had placed his hand on his arm and whispered to him, “Peace, don’t be afraid.”

 

Calm returned to him, and so did the use of his limbs. He followed Jeshua’s lead as did the others, though fear continued its grip on his stomach and chest.

 

Syloren’s first instinct had been to fight. Demon Hunter or not, his muscles still remembered how to move and how to disarm simple thugs like this. No undead rogue could ever move as fast or as graceful as his own Kaldorei muscles could move whether he still possessed the demon’s strength and speed or not. But then he too looked at his Shan’do. Jeshua appeared to shake his head slowly and mouth the words, “Trust me.”

 

He had come this far trusting in the man who had given him back his life. He would go farther he decided.

 

The Rogues marched them into the center of the town, much to the amazement of the other Forsaken inhabitants.

 

“Look what we caught!” Thaddeus yelled out mockingly. “Fresh meat for the undertakers!”

 

“They don’t look like much!! Maybe you should throw them back!” One of the undead bystanders watching it returned. “I got dibs on that one’s feet!” Another one jeered right behind him, pointing at Jeshua. “Maggots are about done with mine!”

 

“Alliance fools!” A large orc in armor marched up to meet them. “You shouldn’t have come here!” His expression, as much as any of them could read the orc’s expression, was surprisingly one of pity and frustration. Then to Jeshua he added in a low, deep voice, “Do you have any idea what these undead will do to you? I would wish it on no one.”

 

“Southern Pigs!” The walking corpse of what might have been an attractive woman at one point threw garbage at them. “How does it feel?!!”

 

“Caught them making a camp near Durnholde Keep, Krusk.” Thaddeus told the Orc as he came to stand next to the heavily muscled, brownish green skinned warrior. “Figured they were either spies or fools. We can use their flesh either way.”

 

Disgust came over the orc’s face like a wave. He then asked, “What’s your name, human?”

 

“Jeshua.” Jeshua replied.

 

“I truly pity you then, Jeshua, or what’s left after they’re finished with you.” Krusk replied, shivering as he did so, his eyes haunted by the thought. “There's nothing I can do to keep this from happening,” he then said quietly, “you should never have set foot here.”

 

He then motioned for a heavily armed and armor clad group of a dozen undead nearby, “Deathguards! Take them.”

 

As the undead soldiers moved to take them into custody, immediately six shapes dropped as if appearing from nowhere out of the sky, cutting down the deathguards with wicked curved double bladed warglaives and leaving the now truly dead corpses on the ground where they fell. Glowing green tattoos covered their bare muscular chests, and their mouths were drawn back in snarls. Their obsidian black, ram-like horns gleamed in the sun opposite long tapered elven ears as they stretched out bat like wings, forming a protective circle around the eight prisoners. Their elven eyes gleemed emerald green with a fel demonic light.

 

Demon Hunters.

 

The undead backed off from the warriors immediately, both civilian and soldier alike, uncertainty on their faces at the new development.

 

“No one touches these until we’ve had our say with them!” A large night elf with dark braided hair surrounding curled black ram's horns snarled at the undead and orcs around them. He then turned towards the prisoners, almost all of them with mouths hanging open in shock at the appearance of the fel elves and said with an evil, fanged grin, “But if we don’t like what we hear, I’ll be sure to save you all the trouble myself.”

 

“Elerian?” Syloren then spoke up, recognizing the man who spoke for the newcomers.

 

“I know that voice. Syloren?” The Demon Hunter responded, looking towards the Night Elf who had followed Jeshua. “Is that really you?”

 

“It is, brother.” Syloren responded.

 

“I thought you lost to us when you left the enclave in Stormwind.” Elerian told him. “I thought you had gone to die.”

 

“I had.” The Night Elf told him. “I lost control and the demon took over.”

 

Elerian looked skeptically at his friend, “Go on. What happened?”

 

Syloren pointed towards Jeshua and said, “He did. He used the Light to cleanse me of the demon. When I woke up, I was myself again without any taint.”

 

Elerian turned hard eyes towards the reddish blond haired, bearded younger man. “Is that the truth.” He said, a statement not a question, appraising him. “You don’t look like anything more than a homeless wretch that I could easily cut in two with a flick of my wrist.”

 

Jeshua said nothing in response.

 

“Do it!” Thaddeus called out from where he stood next to what had been the town’s chapel. “Do it and be done with it!”

 

“Maybe.” Elerian responded looking into Jeshua’s green eyes. “Unless you can give me a damn good reason why I shouldn’t. Can you, vagabond?”

 

The tone of voice Elerian used was harsh and mocking, but there was something more in his eyes and the way he looked at Jeshua that was a longing, a pleading for something that he had thought he could never have.

 

“What is it you want me to do for you?” Jeshua asked him.

 

“I want to be able to go home.” Elerian told him in a low voice. “I want to see Nighthaven again without fear of losing control and slaughtering everyone there.”

 

“You fool! You’re like us! You can’t ever go home no matter how much you want to! They’ll never trust you even if you try!” Thaddeus then shouted at him, somehow hearing the exchange between them. “This charlatan can do nothing to change that!”

 

Many of the Forsaken around him nodded their heads in agreement. “The Light has forsaken you just as it forsook us!” Thaddeus shouted again.

 

A look of despair and hopelessness crossed Elerian’s face as he continued to look into Jeshua’s.

 

Tears formed in Jeshua’s eyes as he turned to face Thaddeus. The undead assassin’s eyes burned with a rage and a seething hatred for him that defied all reason. “The Light forsakes no one, Thaddeus.” He told him, never raising his voice even as it filled with emotion.

 

“Don’t you get it?” The undead man asked incredulously. “The Light burns us now. We are hunted by you people! It’s not just the Light, fool! Everyone has forsaken us! What families we had left! Our supposed friends and allies in the south! Where were they when the Scourge came? Where were they when we needed them the most? Where are they now? Plotting to destroy every one of us! I know! I saw the intelligence myself from the Alliance’s own battle plans at Refuge Point. The very Light itself has abandoned us to the Shadow! No one can change that!”

 

With tears in his eyes, Jeshua replied, emotion choking his voice so that he could barely speak, “No! The Light forsakes no one! It calls everyone back into its healing embrace!”

 

“Just words from a fraud trying to save his own skin and bones for himself.” Thaddeus taunted.

 

Jeshua then cried out to all of them so the entire town could hear him, “The Light wants to shine on and within all of you. It wants to redeem you and call you its own! The Light has sent you a message!”

 

“And what message is that, vagabond?” The undead man asked, scoffing.

 

“Me.” Jeshua replied.

 

He then dropped to one knee and prayed aloud to the Light so everyone could hear him, “Sire, I know you sent me and always hear me. I know you want to shine within these as well and see their salvation and not their destruction. Hear me now, show them who you are and send your purity and healing upon them. All of them.”

 

“Wait, what are you doing?” Thaddeus questioned, becoming alarmed.

 

Jeshua then placed the palm of his right hand flat against the ground of Tarrin Mill. Immediately streams of pure, holy, radiant Light flowed from his fingertips and raced across the undead town enveloping and encompassing every Forsaken and Demon Hunter it encountered until the whole settlement was engulfed in the Light’s embrace. Dark ram’s horns and bat’s wings burned away. Dead and rotting skin mended. Hearts began to beat again as the Light raced around the circumference of the town and consumed every afflicted being there.

 

His followers watched stunned at the transformation taking place as the darkness and shadow was burned away from the town and banished as though the sun itself had descended to Azeroth’s surface and kissed it passionately.

 

It was over in a matter of seconds, but when it faded, those soldiers which lay dead on the ground by Illidari blades were standing upright, alive and whole. Those Forsaken and undead held beating hearts and fully restored, living flesh. Those Illidari which had been now stood as purified Kaldorei and Sindorei, whole and free of the demonic taint.

 

“The Light abandons no one.” Jeshua repeated, his expression pained, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I was sent to show you that.”

 

Thaddeus looked at his own hands. Fine blond hairs covered the backs of them. The skin had been mended and was healthy. He pressed his hand to his chest and felt a beat there. The world seemed to stop as he collapsed to his knees in shock. His mouth hung open, unable to speak the word it was trying to form, “How?”

 

The Orc soldiers that had been in among the undead froze where they were as they suddenly found themselves surrounded by living, breathing humans and elves. A few of them drew their axes and swords from where they hung against their armor, waiting for their commander’s signal to act, but their expressions were just as stunned as everyone else’s.

 

“What do we do, commander?” One of the orcs was able to articulate.

 

Krusk just stared in disbelief at the homeless human vagabond. He had never in his lifetime seen power such as this from anyone. No mage, no priest, no warlock had ever done what he had just witnessed.

 

Krusk raised his right hand in a gesture that told them to hold where they were for the moment and not act. Looking into Jeshua’s eyes, he realized any aggressive move now would be both honorless and pointless. He could not fight against such power with a mere axe.

 

“We do our duty. We report to the warchief. We tell her what has happened here. We let her deal with it.” Krusk then answered, nodding in respect to Jeshua. He then motioned again with his hand for his troops to follow him. “Come.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 

In Tarren Mill, a week later…

 

Sylvanas Windrunner expressed no emotion as she surveyed the empty town with her glowing red eyes. Her white blond hair spilled out slightly from the dark red hood she wore. The still flawless, though undead, gray elven skin of the terrifying yet hauntingly beautiful features of the Sindorei huntress turned banshee queen couldn’t be read by those others present, though her face did not look pleased. Next to her, an Orc commander stood with thirteen armored grunts. Around these were posed a contingent of Dark Rangers with bows in hand. These undead female Sindorei archers whose own corpses were as perfectly preserved as their mistress's due to their race had been trained by Sylvanas personally long before the Scourge had come to Azeroth. They stood waiting for her next word, gesture, or any response she might give.

 

When the Orc and his grunts had demanded from the Deathguards to see her immediately in Grommash Hold just two days before, Sylvanas had honestly believed the warrior’s brains to have rotted at first. She had been in council with Saurfang, the de facto leader of the Orc race, and Lor’themar, her counterpart in Silvermoon, in the war room behind closed doors looking over maps, hearing reports from Ashenvale, Northrend, and the Barrens as she had been doing for several days. Having heard the commotion on the other side of the doors, she herself had opened them to see thirteen Orcs about to cleave her Forsaken guards in two.

 

“Warchief!” Sylvanas had heard him say, and he and his men saluted her deferentially. “We must speak to you, now!”

 

“And what is so important that disrupt your warchief’s council? Give me a good reason not to order you all dismembered for wasting my time.” She had responded, irritation evident on her face.

 

“There has been an incident at Tarren Mill, warchief. It was one which we believed you should know about immediately.” Krusk had responded.

 

“What incident?” She had questioned skeptically.

 

As the Orc then related to her the unbelievable events she quickly stopped him from speaking, very aware her own undead guards could hear it too. There was no realistic chance that it could have been true, but she couldn’t risk her own people hearing of the nonsense regardless and having rumors spread. But then there was always the annoying “what if?” Could she take the chance and do nothing? She had looked from the Orcs back to her fellow leaders quickly. She also couldn’t just leave the war room to deal with the situation right then, and if the Orcs were insane it would have been for nothing.

 

“Escort these grunts to the next chamber.” She told the Deathguards. To the Orcs she said, “Tell no one until I speak with you again. Am I understood?”

 

“Yes, Warchief.” Krusk had responded, saluting with his fist against his chest.

 

Several hours later she met them again, attempting to decide whether or not to put them down for good, or whether the details of their story had any merit. One delusional Orc commander was easily solved, but when all thirteen soldiers reported exactly the same thing, she realized she could not ignore it. She would have to travel to Tarren Mill herself to investigate and put an end to it.

 

It had taken days for the Orc and his grunts on wargback to reach a portal trained mage either because of the lack of foresight of her lieutenants in Hillsbrad and Silverpine, or because of their incompetence. Either way, they had lost time. Those mages that they would have made use of had been stationed here in Tarren Mill when the “incident” had happened, and were among the “affected.” It had been Krusk’s intention to portal to the Undercity and report to her directly, and that was what they had done at first. Except she had not been in the Undercity at the time as they had believed. She had been in Orgrimmar going over troop strength and tactics, attempting to sway the other Horde leadership in the direction she wanted them to think, and planning for a war with the Alliance she had been carefully orchestrating since the Legion’s defeat.

 

Stormwind would pay for their decades old betrayal of her people. Vengeance would belong to the Forsaken, and then the southerners would finally understand once they awoke from the undead graveyards. She would replenish her own population and troops by absorbing her enemies’ dead bodies just as the Lich King had.

 

Krusk couldn’t have known what was happening or where she was. He and his grunts had reported the news directly to her as quickly as they could have under the circumstances, refusing to confide it to an underling who might not have understood its importance. At least the Orc had the wits to grasp that she would want to know it as soon as possible if “immediately” wasn’t.

 

Still, a week had been lost.

 

“Tell me again what happened.” She instructed him. “Every detail. Act it out where it happened if you have to. I want to see it for myself.”

 

Krusk then began recalling once more for her (for the fourth time since his first report he thought) exactly what had happened. He detailed for her where the prisoners had been brought in, how many there were, what races, who had captured them, where the Deathguards had been, when the Demon Hunters had intervened, what he had heard pass between her assassin and the human Priest, and then the human’s responses, his actions, his “prayer”, and what had happened next. He acted it out as best he could, kneeling, saying the words he remembered, all of it attempting to leave nothing out.

 

“You saw all of this with your own eyes?” She asked him again, taking all of it in pensively. Calculations and theories moved quickly behind her eyes. “You and your men?”

 

“Yes, warchief.” Krusk replied. The Orc warriors behind him also added their agreement. It had happened exactly as Krusk described.

 

“And you did nothing to stop him?” She asked. Her tone of voice was even, but Krusk could feel the accusation like a knife thrust.

 

“The Demon Hunters surrounding him made a powerful argument with their glaives, Warchief.” He told her without irony. “I saw nothing before it happened that would have suggested that it could have happened. The man looked like a homeless pauper. His companions were not much better.” Krusk answered, not knowing if they would be his last words spoken.

 

She considered this again. Demon Hunters were fearsome warriors, and she knew as well as he did that Krusk and his grunts would have been cut to ribbons had they attempted to cross them. Krusk had been bright enough to know it too. She still would have lost her people here, and possibly Orc grunts who had more than half a brain in their heads, and would not have known until much later. And, if Krusk was telling the truth, they had offered to deal with the prisoners themselves if the man had been a fraud.

 

The problem she couldn’t reconcile in her mind is that what Krusk was describing she knew to be impossible. Priests, Druids, and Shamans from across Azeroth had been searching for a way to reverse the undeath for decades since the Scourge first came to their world. Tauren alchemists in particular had spent years exhausting their considerable skills in conjunction with her own people. Nothing had ever been found which would work without severing their souls completely and damning them for eternity in the void. And she had been told of what had occurred with the Naaru Xe’ra and Illidan Stormrage. Cleansing the Illidari seemed just as likely after that.

 

But the fact remained, Tarren Mill was empty. There were no bodies to be collected. Krusk’s story, as impossible as it was, could not be contradicted by the evidence at the moment unless the entire town of Forsaken had just decided to go on holiday all at once.

 

Which left her with a quandary, and a potentially huge problem. There were now around two hundred fewer Forsaken among her people’s population. Two hundred potential fewer troops to draw on when she was close to needing them for the next phase of her plan, and there were now around two hundred more humans, many if not most of them capable of fighting, within her lands if they hadn't gone east into the Highlands. She had received no reports of a throng of people passing through Thoradin's Wall so they still had to be within her reach. This man Jeshua had the capability of raising an army for the Alliance from among her own people if what Krusk had told her was even remotely true and that was a threat which had to be dealt with.

 

“Rangers!” She called out. Immediately, fifteen hooded, undead elf women armored similarly to their mistress appeared from where they had been standing, observing the town and the surrounding area, at her side waiting for instructions, quivers full and bows in hand.

 

“Track them.” She then told them. “Find our missing people. I want every person that was here accounted for no matter what state they are in, including this man Jeshua. You have his description from the Orc.”

 

“And when we find them mistress?” One of them, Aiyana Deatharrow, asked. There was no question in her voice that they would find them.

 

“Keep them under observation. Report directly to me. Go.”

 

All fifteen women then disappeared in an unnatural blur without a word. Loyal to her even beyond the grave, they, she knew, would not fail her.

 

 _A cure for the undeath._ The unruly thought itself teased her and toyed with what emotions she had remaining to her. The possibility of turning Forsaken back to living humans was a threat she couldn't ignore, but the possibility of a cure... She couldn't ignore that either. _Salvation from what Arthas did to us after all this time._ _If it’s really possible…_

 

“Do you have instructions for us, warchief?” Krusk then asked her, waiting.

 

She briefly toyed with the idea of felling him and his men herself for failing to stop this Jeshua, and for what they knew. If word of this got out among her people it could potentially destabilize everything from Silverpine to Eversong.

 

 _No, it’s been a week._ She then told herself. _There are too many of them. This is already out of control and needs to be reined back in. Any direction they would have gone, word will already have spread among the Forsaken. Krusk has a brain and can follow orders. I hate to waste good resources._

 

The real question in her mind was, “which direction did they go?”

 

“Take your men and head into the mountains, see if they might have taken the pass north.” She then told him. “If they did, there will be a trail of bodies one way or the other. It will be a trail even a child could follow.”

 

She didn’t have to explain. The Alterac mountain passes were inhospitable, snowbound and frozen over. They were also inhabited by a tribes of ogres and yetis. Strahnbrad, yet another stronghold for the Syndicate, lay on that road as well. There would be corpses one way or the other if they had gone that route. The people here would have known this all too well, but she still had to make certain.

 

“Yes, warchief.” Krusk saluted her unemotionally with his fist, and then took his men and left for the road north.

 

 _A cure… It would destroy everything I’ve planned and worked for._ She thought. _But it could save my people… And me also._

 

Wheels continued to turn in her mind as she calculated her next course of action carefully.

 

* * *

 

Days earlier…

 

Strong, virile human men and women wearing the plate armor of Sylvanas Windrunner’s own Deathguards went in front of and behind the mass of people making their way north, guarding them as best they could from whatever might attack them. Their numbers were supplemented by six Sindorei and Kaldorei warriors wielding Illidari warglaves, human assassins that scouted ahead of the party for trouble, and common folk who had armed themselves with old swords, hunting rifles, pistols, pitchforks, daggers, and whatever else they could find whether or not they knew how to use them. Two Mages in torn purple robes, daggers at their sides, conjured food and drink whenever the group needed to rest.

 

At the center of the armed crowd, distinct from them in that they carried no weapons of any kind, were Jeshua and his eight apprentices. One more than they started the journey with had been added to their number; Thaddeus Jude, a mousy brown haired man sporting new beard growth who spent much time speaking with his friend, Mathaius, and paying attention to every word the teacher said.

 

“I didn’t understand the message before. I’m not going to make that mistake ever again.” He had said when asked about it.

 

They had started from Tarren Mill later in the day after “the miracle” had occurred. The entire town had been stunned and shaken by the transformation which had come over them. It was something they all had longed for. It was also something they had given up hope on long, long before, and then suddenly it had just happened in seconds. Many of them couldn’t speak for some time for the changes which had been made, and stared in awe and gratitude at the man who had caused it. But soon enough, they began to realize what it meant for them in the here and now as heartfelt expressions turned to the realities of their new situation.

 

By virtue of their race, they were now enemies in their own land and among their own people. It was a consequence of what had occurred that they couldn’t stay where they were in Tarren Mill without the certain threat of reprisal against them and the man who had brought the miracle to them.

 

The debate in the town hall had been heated and passionate about what they were going to do now that they were no longer “Forsaken”. Not understanding the northerners, the suggestion had been offered by one of the former Illidari, a Night Elf man, that they should head east towards Refuge Point and then south to Alliance lands where they would be welcomed, but it was vehemently shouted down by the townspeople.

 

“They abandoned us and tried to steal our lands!” Craig Hewitt, a farmer, had shouted. “I don’t care if my heart’s beating or not, that ain’t never gonna happen!”

 

“Why should we trust them? They left us to rot and hunted us like vermin!” Aranae Venomblood, the town’s herbalist, had added.

 

The anger and pain which they expressed at the southern kingdoms was real, decades old, and deeply ingrained. Many more shared stories of being hunted by Paladins and Priests wearing Alliance colors in addition to the Scarlet Crusade, the fanatical group that had never distinguished between Scourge and Forsaken. No, they wouldn’t be joining the Alliance any time soon. None of them.

 

Jeshua and those with him had remained silent during the debate, though he would have been welcome to speak. The choices had to be theirs as to where they would go and what path they would follow. He had given them what they had always wanted, but would not take their free choices from them.

 

Then, after seeming to go nowhere, Mathaius Levi had spoken up, “What about Hearthglen to the north?”

 

The others had quieted down and all eyes turned to the younger looking man.

 

“Tirion Fordring and his Argent Crusade have never attacked our people, and don’t even take sides between the Horde and Alliance. They accept everyone as a recruit, regardless of where they come from. We could go there.” He told them.

 

Several voices murmured at once with the idea. Several more heads had nodded, though one of the Sindorei spoke up and said, “But Tirion Fordring is dead, and he had no living heirs. The Argent Crusade was absorbed into the Silver Hand at the beginning of the Legion War along with the Blood Knights and Sunwalkers. You need to know who controls those lands now.”

 

“Maxwell Tyrosus, one of the former Argent Crusade lords.” Thaddeus had answered, making use of his former employment gathering intelligence. “According to reports, he’s a fair man, and holds fast to Highlord Fordring’s ideals. Nothing’s changed in Hearthglen. Even some of our own Forsaken brothers and sisters can be found among them there at Light’s Hope in the Eastern Plaguelands.”

 

The decision then had been made quickly. Unable to remain, and with no other refuge, they gathered any supplies they could carry with them, food, clothing, any medicines they had, weapons, any bedding they could roll up and carry in sacks or backpacks. What extra any of them had they shared with Jeshua, his apprentices, and the former Illidari so that no one was left without what they needed. When they left Tarren Mill, they looked a rag tag but prepared host.

 

Jeshua and his apprentices had been invited, even urged to go with them. They all wanted to know more about the man who had redeemed them from the undeath they thought would damn them for eternity, and all wanted to hear what he had to say. Under the circumstances, Jeshua had agreed.

 

The debate about which route to take had been quicker than the one deciding where they would go. The northern pass near Alterac would be too dangerous most of those in the town knew right away. Instead, they chose to head north along the bank of the river which flowed just to the east of the town. They made camp at the base of the hills that night along the riverbank, each of the townsfolk taking watch during the night to guard the others while they slept. The next morning, working out that they’d traveled far enough past both the mountain pass and Strahnbrad, they headed up through the woods and into the hills until they reached the old road that headed north towards Andorhal, the entire party stopping again for the night at a small Argent Crusade controlled settlement called Chillwind Camp which consisted of little more than a few houses and an Alliance run Gryphon service.

 

That night was spent around several campfires as there wasn’t enough lodging in the tiny village for everyone. The story of “the miracle” had been told again and again to those residents of Chillwind Camp who also gave looks of shocked disbelief at the newcomers, especially those wearing the armor of Sylvanas’ own guards. All eyes would eventually turn to the strawberry blond bearded man who sat around one of the campfires with his apprentices and those who wanted to hear him. One raven haired man with intelligent, cunning eyes and scruffy beard paid special attention to not only the fantastic tales, but the size of the scruffy army which had descended on Chillwind, where they were headed, and the man they credited with their transformation.

 

This man had quietly slipped away from the rest into one of the houses. Pulling out a white stone with a sapphire blue swirl embedded in it, he said quietly, focusing on his destination, “Stormwind.” And then he vanished from the house in a flash of blue light.

 

With the next day came renewed tension as they knew their next night would be spent crossing the ruins of Andorhal which lay farther down the old highway and across the bridge. At one time, before the plague and the third war, Andorhal had been one of the largest cities in Lordaeron, but after had been a constant battleground. Most of the city had been reduced to ruins and rubble in the conflicts.

 

The fighting in Andorhal, first against the Scourge forces, and then when those had been destroyed between the Forsaken soldiers and what remained of the Alliance troops there, had been finished for well over a decade. Several of those among Tarren Mill’s refugees had fought there for their Dark Lady themselves, and when it was done, the Forsaken had overrun the city, driving the remaining Alliance forces out and into retreat.

 

But there was no way around it. A deep river, difficult to cross even by swimming separated the southern stretch of land from most of the province north of them from the mountains in the west to Darrowmere Lake in the east. Two bridges, one to the west and one to the east of Chillwind Camp were the only way to continue towards their goal, and both led straight through Andorhal’s rubble strewn, undead patrolled streets.

 

They would have former friends and comrades trying to kill them.

 

In the afternoon, as the townspeople approached the gates of Andorhal from the western bridge, guns were loaded, swords were drawn, and eyes were kept open. They knew they might lose some of their own in the attempt, but their own choices were few in the matter. In front of them, Deathguards had been posted to either side of the entryway and were already raising the alarm at the encroaching horde of armed humans and elves.

 

“We’re under attack!!!” The cry went up among the Forsaken, and an alarm bell began to ring as more Deathguards rushed to the western gate to defend it from the armed mob, holding a line behind a barricade of wood and stone rubble that looked to have been there from one of the previous conflicts and never moved.

 

The mass of people began to move forward and then stopped twenty yards from the Forsaken barricade, at least twenty or so armored Deathguards holding their own position, swords and shields at the ready.

 

“I ain’t no cowards, but are we really going to do this?” Craig Hewitt asked one of the Deathguards from Tarren Mill. “Those are our own people no matter what’s happened; our own brothers and sisters.”

 

The Deathguard’s own restored face looked pained as he looked down at the tabard he still wore depicting the distorted features of an undead woman’s face in dark purple and black. “If you’ve got any other solution...” He replied, trailing off.

 

“What about just talking to them and telling them what happened?” The farmer then asked. “What could we lose from it if some of us are going to die from the fighting anyway?”

 

“Would you have believed it?” The Deathguard asked skeptically.

 

“No.” Craig replied. “No, I wouldn’t have, but what do we have to lose? The teacher back there keeps talking about ‘loving your enemies’ and not fighting back when someone tries to hurt you. These folks ain’t even really our enemies. Hell, I fought here myself twenty years ago. Least we could do is talk to them first before we all try and kill each other.”

 

“As did I.” The armored man replied in agreement, remembering the battle.

 

The Deathguard took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he considered the farmer’s words. When he made his decision, he sheathed his sword in it’s scabbard and lowered his shield so that his tabard and colors could be clearly seen by the other side.

 

He then began walking towards the barricade by himself, gesturing for everyone else to hold back where they were. When he got close enough for the opposing Deathguards to hear, he called out, “Dark Lady watch over you, brothers!”

 

The looks on the Forsaken Deathguards’ faces changed to confusion at the human dressed in their colors and armor, and greeting them in such a manner. After a minute, one of them called back, “Victory for Sylvanas!”

 

“Indeed!” The human Deathguard replied in agreement. “May our queen reign eternal!”

 

“Who are you that speaks like this about our queen, human?!” The Forsaken Deathguard responded back across the distance between them.

 

“I am one of you, brothers, in spite of my transformation. My heart, and the hearts of those who now beat with mine, beats for the Forsaken.” The Deathguard called back. “We come from Tarren Mill and are traveling to Hearthglen! We seek safe passage through the city!”

 

“Turn back, Alliance fools! Do you believe us that stupid?!” The Deathguard replied after he understood what the human had told him. “We will show you no mercy!”

 

“It is the truth!” The human insisted. “I fought here too against both the Scourge and the Alliance! None of us have any more love for Stormwind than you do, brothers! We only want to pass through the city!”

 

Then the guard behind the barricade spoke to one of the other soldiers who then fell back and disappeared through the gates. He then called back to the human, “Hold where you are! I have sent for the High Executor! He will know what to do with you!”

 

The human Deathguard nodded and waited. The truth was though, he was a soldier not a negotiator. He followed orders in service to his queen and had no experience with diplomacy. The whole process was disturbing and painful to him. He respected and honored his queen, Sylvanas. She had freed them all from the Scourge’s grasp and given them all back their free will to do as they please, to join her cause or just go and live their undeath in the way they saw fit. He had chosen to serve her willingly. He bore neither the men in front of him, nor her any ill will, even in spite of what he knew they would do to himself and the rest of his people.

 

It took several minutes, but eventually a balding, undead man in armor and wearing sigils of rank riding a skeletal horse emerged from the gate and passed by the barricades to draw up next to the strangely dressed human that spoke like one of them.

 

“Speak, human, and don’t try my patience.” The military officer told him.

 

The human Deathguard bent down on one knee in deference to his superior.

 

“My lord,” the Deathguard began, “My people and I are loyal Forsaken citizens from Tarren Mill. A miracle occurred there which restored to us our living flesh. We are seeking safe passage north through the city to Hearthglen.”

 

“Do you believe me a fool, human? Nothing cures the undeath.” The High Executor replied. “I see at least two hundred people following you, elves among them. Do you expect me to believe that the entire town was cured?”

 

The Death guard nodded his head, expecting the officer’s response. “Every word is the truth, my lord, I swear it on Sylvanas Windrunner herself.”

 

The High Executor appeared uneasy at this last statement and then looked out at the people again. “What caused this ‘miracle’? How did this happen, Deathguard?”

 

“My lord, it was a human whom I believe to be a renegade Priest of the Holy Light, but a Priest with powers unlike any I have ever seen. All he did was say a prayer and touch the ground of the town and we were all healed.” The Deathguard replied. “I believe it… he is the answer, the cure we have all been seeking since the Scourge tore our nation apart. The elves you see were Illidari that were present at the time. As we were restored to living flesh, so the demon was cleansed from them.”

 

The High Executor looked from the Deathguard to the crowd of people again, searching their frightened expressions. Some appeared defiant, most though appeared uncertain as to what would happen next.

 

“Where is this human now?” He asked.

 

“My lord, he and his followers travel with us. He teaches and speaks like no one I have heard or seen before.” He said.

 

The High Executor then appeared to be thinking, the wheels in his mind turning almost visibly. He then asked the question which hung in the air between them, “If you are all loyal citizens, why do you flee north? Why did you abandon Tarren Mill?”

 

The Deathguard didn’t hesitate, “For the same reason the guards here raised the alarm at our approach. We were afraid of our brothers’ response when we were no longer undead. We hate the Alliance as much as you, but could not stay where we were. Hearthglen has always remained neutral.”

 

The high ranking officer stared at the Deathguard kneeling before him long and hard for several minutes with cold, dead milky eyes deciding what to do with him and the rest of his people. He could not honestly brand them traitors yet. Faced with the decisions they had been given, what would he or any of his people have done?

 

He then told the Deathguard, “Swear your allegiance to the Dark Lady here before me.”

 

“I so swear my allegiance and my sword to Sylvanas Windrunner and to the Forsaken people.” The human Deathguard replied proudly and without hesitation having drawn his sword and planted the tip of it in the ground before the High Executor as he knelt.

 

“I will grant your safe passage on one condition.” The officer told him. “You and your people leave your weapons here on the bridge. The roads north of Andorhal are clear, and the passage all the way to Hearthglen has been safe for some time. You will not need them. Do this, and I swear on the Dark Lady that you and your people will walk through Andorhal unmolested. But you must not stop here at all. You must leave the city this day, and I must report this to the Undercity.”

 

A kind of shock had gone through the Deathguard as he realized what had just happened. For several seconds he could not reply.

 

“Do you agree to my terms, Deathguard?” The High Executor waited expectantly.

 

“A.. Allow me to confer your terms to the rest of my people, my lord.” The human told him, rising.

 

“Don’t take too long.” The officer replied, watching the man intently as he walked back to the mass of people.

 

The High Executor could hear some commotion coming from the crowd, some arguments as well. He did not blame them. He might not have believed the offer either, but he had meant it. If there was finally a cure, it was his responsibility to his people to protect it as well and see that as many of his people could have access to it. It had been impossible up until now, but if there was even a chance, it was one he would gamble true death on if only his people might be restored, and he himself. The truth was as well, he did not have enough troop strength in his city’s garrison to repel the size of army these people presented for long. This was the best solution for both parties.

 

Finally, the Deathguard returned and told him, “We are in agreement.”

 

The officer nodded then turned towards the soldiers behind the barricades and called out, “Stand down! These people are under my protection! They are to pass unmolested! The first man to kill one of them will have his head on my table!”

 

The undead soldiers cleared quickly from the barricades and made a path through the gates and into the streets of the city. The humans and elves on the bridge looked on in amazement and still disbelief.

 

“Now, I believe we had an agreement.” The High Executor told the Deathguard expectantly. If they really were loyal citizens, they would lay down their weapons.

 

The human turned and motioned to his people. The response was immediate as swords, daggers, pitchforks, and guns were placed on the worn stones of the bridge. The only ones to remain armed were the former Illidari who still held the warglaives in their hands, their expressions uncertain as to what to do.

 

Then the High Executor saw a poorly dressed man with reddish blond hair and beard turn to one of the elves and speak to him, though he could not hear what he had to say. He could not place his finger on it, but the vagabond man looked familiar to him like a picture or a portrait he had seen at one time. It took several seconds, but the elf laid down his weapons and then motioned for his comrades to do the same.

 

Satisfied, the officer called to the people, “The Queen welcomes you to Andorhal!” Then to the Deathguard he added again, “See that you don’t remain long. My protection only extends so far until the queen hears of this, and she must hear quickly, as must all of our people.”

 

The Deathguard nodded his understanding.

 

And with that, the imposing undead man rode back through the gates of the city himself, and the way for the people was clear.

 

It had taken several hours for the mass of people to pass through the city and out onto the northern highway that ran all the way from the ruins of Lordaeron in the west to Light’s Hope chapel far to the east. The High Executor had been true to his word, and the rest of their exodus had been uneventful as they crossed the region north, reaching the gates of Hearthglen the fifth day from their departure from Tarren Mill. They had lost not a single person in the journey.

 

Lord Maxwell Tyrosus had been informed and met with the speakers of the host of people and allowed them welcome and resettlement for the moment into the Argent Crusade stronghold. They all came under the Paladin’s protection, the strange man Jeshua in particular intriguing the older, one-eyed warrior.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

 

Around the same time,

 

“My Lord!” The black haired man with quick, intelligent eyes and well groomed raven beard and mustache rushed through the white stone halls of Stormwind Keep towards the throne room. His hard used leather soles hit the floor with a clack that echoed through the stone halls of the royal fortress like gunshots. “Your majesty! I must speak with you!”

 

The look on the man’s face was urgent and almost panicked, unusual given his regular employment. He looked as though having seen a phantasm, which was entirely likely given his assignment in the Western Plaguelands. Whatever had overcome him must have been more disturbing still. He wore a dark gray woolen vest with matching pants and tailored white shirt. A black leather trenchcoat hung open around his body as he walked quickly in the throne room, attempting to gain the attention of his monarch.

 

His information could not wait for etiquette and protocol.

 

The throne room at that hour of the evening had been mostly empty except for the royal guards, the King himself and those advisers he surrounded himself with including the lord of Gilneas, Genn Graymane and, tonight, the leader and High Priest of the Draenei, the Prophet Velen.

 

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” Genn Graymane had been the first to speak. A man in his eighties yet still virile and muscular, and a king in his own right though in exile. “Who are you? Speak up man!”

 

“My lord and King Anduin,” the man began addressing his own sovereign, “Flint Shadowmore, S.I.:7, stationed at Chillwind Camp, your majesty. I'm sorry for the intrusion, but there has been a development in the north you need to know right away, your majesty!”

 

Anduin looked at the man directly, understanding that whatever the man had learned had shaken him badly enough to come running in here instead of following proper chains of command. “Go on.” He then told the intelligence agent.

 

Flint Shadowmore then began to relate to all present the appearance of the mass of people at Chillwind Camp and the incredible story they had told everyone there. He also related how the humans had no intent or desire to head for Alliance lands but were headed to seek refuge in Hearthglen. He also gave the name of the man to whom the fleeing townspeople had attributed their transformation.

 

It was then Velen who spoke up, “Anduin, if I may?” He asked the much younger leader, deferring to him in his own realm.

 

Anduin nodded, not realizing his mouth had not closed since the man began speaking.

 

“Agent, do you mean to tell us this man Jeshua cured the undeath of an entire town’s population at once?” The Draenei asked, the disbelief evident on his features.

 

“Yes, my lord, and not just the town. There were Night Elves and Blood Elves among them that claimed to have been Illidari before the event occurred. Six of them to be exact. All of them named this man Jeshua as the one responsible.” Shadowmore answered.

 

“And how many humans were in this group?” Genn Graymane questioned, his own mind trying to grasp it.

 

“I’d estimate over two hundred, my lord.” The agent replied. “They were all armed with some kind of weapon except this man Jeshua and his followers. He seemed to have some kind of religious teaching against it. There were around twenty human men and women in Deathguard armor and weapons wearing Forsaken tabards among them.”

 

“Humans wearing Forsaken colors?” Greymane’s eyes went wide.

 

“Your story appears incredible at best, Agent Shadowmore.” Anduin remarked.

 

“If it pleases your majesty, send other agents to Chillwind Camp. Ask the other people there, they’ll corroborate my story for you. Also, I would recommend you send men to Hearthglen. That’s where they were going.” The agent told him.

 

“To get to Hearthglen, they’d have to pass through Andorhal.” Greymane said, thinking out loud. “That city’s been under Forsaken control since we lost it after the Cataclysm. I’d like to know how living humans intend to pass through it without a fight.”

 

“It was my understanding that was why they were armed, my lord.” Shadowmore replied. “They appeared to be ready for a fight from either Forsaken or Alliance forces. They didn’t really appear to know who to trust when I heard them talking except for this man Jeshua. Chillwind, as you know, is largely sympathetic to the Argent Crusade and the Paladin orders like most of the still populated areas in the Plaguelands. The Draenei Anchorite Truun is a member and he preaches regularly. The whole village hangs on every word.”

 

Flint Shadowmore glanced at Velen as he said this before returning his gaze to his monarch.

 

Anduin considered this new report very carefully before he told the man, “Thank you for your quick report, Agent Shadowmore. Return to the Plaguelands and see if you can learn more. Find this man and observe him. Keep us updated. You are dismissed.”

 

“Yes, your majesty. At once.” Shadowmore replied as he turned and walked from the throne room.

 

Those remaining in the throne room looked to each other trying to gauge their reactions. It was finally Anduin himself who had spoken. “This is no longer just a ridiculous rumor. Imagine, a cure for the Forsaken. Do you realize what this could mean?” Hope crept into his voice as thoughts filled his mind.

 

“Yes...” Greymane replied, though his voice sounded more uncertain and pensive. “Yes, I do.” A certain menace crept into his words, but only briefly. He then added, “We need to find this man Jeshua at once and talk to him. We need to determine whose side he is truly on.”

 

“I will travel to Hearthglen.” Velen then told them. “If he is going there, then I will find and speak with him. We will learn the answers to all of these questions.”

 

 _And there is another who may wish to travel with me_ , he thought to himself, remembering his conversation with the carpenter in the trade district. He felt the Davidsons had a right to know where their son was.

 

Near Hearthglen, days later…

 

The two undead elven women tracked silently and swiftly along the old forest road. Like their mistress, their eyes glowed red under black cowls and cloaks, and their hauntingly beautiful elven features were marred only by the dead grayness of their otherwise flawless skin. Unlike their human counterparts, their elven physiology resisted the decay and decomposition which tore apart other Forsaken over time. They had picked up the trail of hundreds of people along the river’s edge east of Tarren Mill and followed it intently. It had not been difficult to follow. Those who made the tracks made no attempts to conceal them, and were clearly inexperienced at doing so. Cold campfires had been left along the way.

 

The trail led from the river up to the road north and into Chillwind Camp before it continued along the road to the western bridge into Andorhal. The Deathguards had bowed their heads deferentially to the Dark Rangers when they entered the city, a look of fear in the undead soldiers’ eyes at their appearance. Ignoring the soldiers, the Rangers pressed on through the city, continuing to track their prey at the Dark Lady’s command.

 

The thought had occurred to the Ranger Aiyana to question the soldiers and the High Executor in charge of the city, but then she dismissed it for the moment. The trail was clear, and though she did not know how the soldiers and garrison commander here could fail to miss two hundred people, humans if the story was to be believed, passing through Andorhal, there would be no need at the moment to relate the circumstances to them as the Dark Lady appeared to want the story silenced if possible. They would, however, most certainly interrogate the High Executor at a later time to demand an explanation.

 

Passing through the city, they followed the trail north along the roads until they became nothing but dirt pathways stamped with impressions of hundreds of feet, and then the dirt pathway ended as the trail continued through the hills to the north where there was only one possible destination for them to go.

 

Hearthglen.

 

Far ahead of the two Rangers could be seen a much smaller group of Forsaken, two women and three men who had been human before the plague, all of them dressed in civilian clothes and appearing to be mostly unarmed. They were hiking the way through the hills having left the dirt path towards what the Rangers knew to be the gates of the Argent Crusade stronghold.

 

It was a curious sight to the two hooded Rangers. They followed the party discreetly at a distance to see where they were going and what would happen, vanishing and blending into the trees and foliage as their mistress had trained them to do long before their own undeath.

 

The group of travelers continued up the road and then up the hill until they stopped at the gates which had been built into the natural cleft between the rocky hills surrounding the Crusade’s lands, the banners of the neutral Paladin order, the pointed gray cross with a shining circle of light in the center set against a white background. As the Rangers watched them, they seemed to be uncertain about proceeding.

 

Then, a patrol of armed guards wearing tabards with the same sigil emerged through the gate to head down the road. The guards were made up of male and female humans, elves from among the Kaldorei and Sindorei, and even Orcs. Seeing the group of travelers, the guards stopped them but took no aggressive action.

 

The Dark Rangers drew closer swiftly and silently to hear what was passing between them.

 

“We’ve come to see the Priest, Jeshua. We heard he was here.” One of the Forsaken women, a woman with dull, torn brown hair and cerulean colored dead flesh wearing a black button down dress and high leather boots, spoke to a muscular bearded Orc wearing the Argent Crusade tabard. “We don’t want any trouble.” She added.

 

“The human preacher?” The Orc asked, his voice deep and rich. “He’s here. He and the others arrived a few days ago. Lord Tyrosus has extended the protection of the Argent Crusade to them as our guests. What do you want with him?”

 

“We’ve heard he can cure us.” Another man with tattered greenish flesh and only traces of blond hair left on his scalp spoke up. “He can make us living again.”

 

“Hmph. I’ve heard the same from everyone that came with him. You’ll find Hearthglen a lot more crowded than it used to be. Leave your weapons with us and you may enter.” The Orc told them sincerely.

 

Each of the Forsaken travelers drew their daggers from their belts and, turning them so that the hilts faced the patrol guards, handed them over. “Satisfied?” The first undead woman asked drily.

 

The Orc grunted and then nodded. He then turned to one of the human guards with them, a younger man with crimson colored hair and only wisps of a beard and mustache still growing in. “Darek, escort these people to the house where the preacher and his followers are staying.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Darek replied. “Please, follow me.” He then told the group.

 

The five Forsaken people then passed up through the gates and disappeared from view led by the guard. The Dark Rangers then quickly and unnaturally scrambled up the hills and rocks almost spider like, the natural barriers proving no barrier at all to the undead elf women who found handholds where none should have existed. Dropping into the town from the surrounding hills and remaining behind structures, and blending in with the shadows ghostlike they moved through the town tracking their quarry. Within seconds they had reacquired a view of the Forsaken party, but unseen and unnoticed by the patrols and population of the town.

 

The party of undead civilians were led to a two story structure on the west side of the sizable town which appeared to be almost wholly untouched by the effects of the plague which had devastated Lordaeron. The streets and building of the town appeared to be busy and packed with people. Everywhere, troops bearing the standard of the Argent Crusade were training and on guard.

 

The town and surrounding lands had formerly belonged to Tirion Fordring and his family, being usurped after his fall from grace with the Paladin Order of the Silver Hand after it had been learned he allowed an Orc warrior to live in an abandoned tower on his lands after the second war. Stripped of his lands, title, and even, it had been thought, of the Light itself, and abandoned by his family, he escaped along with the Orc warrior to live in the wilds until he discovered that the Light hadn’t abandoned him. By that point in time, his lands had become the base of operations for the Scarlet Crusade, a brutal, merciless group of Priests and Paladins that persecuted and destroyed both Scourge and Forsaken, as well as anyone else who would get in their way. They had been invited there by his well meaning, but naive son who later paid for his mistake with his life. Later, after the Third War Tirion would form the Argent Crusade to fight the Lich King and his Scourge apart from factional hatreds. After the defeat of the Lich King, he and the Crusade had returned to Hearthglen to drive the Scarlet Crusade out and reclaim his lands. After his death on the Broken Shore, the Crusade continued on with his ideals and acceptance by the Light of all races regardless of faction or political affiliation. Now led by Maxwell Tyrosus, they would be the shining beacon of the Light to fight against the darkness.

 

The Dark Rangers watched the Forsaken people enter the house from a distance, observing every detail, but fully aware there was no way for them to slip in there unnoticed. Even from that distance, they could see that the house was already so filled with humans that they were pressed up against the windows. They waited behind a nearby stable, eyes locked on the house’s windows and doors for any sign.

 

After several minutes, they saw flashes of bright radiant light emanating from the downstairs windows of the house. It burned for several seconds and then faded again. They waited much longer after that for any other movement. After the sun began to dip much lower in the sky, five humans stepped out of the doorway of the house accompanied by another human man wearing the armor of a Deathguard. Those other five humans all wore the exact same clothes with the exact same rips and tears in them that the Forsaken party they were tracking had worn.

 

The gestured silently to each other, speaking with hands signals only, “Do you see what I see?” Aiyana asked her sister in arms.

 

“Yes, but it’s not possible.” Terena replied with her hands. “We must inform our mistress.”

 

With gestures only, Aiyana said, “Go. Return to the queen. Tell her we’ve found them, and the human responsible.”

 

Terena nodded in agreement then took out a white stone with a sapphire blue spiral. Gripping it tightly in her hand she whispered, “Undercity.”

 

Had anyone known to watch, they might have noticed a quick blue flash of light behind the stable.

 

* * *

 

Not much later that same day in Hearthglen…

 

At first it was merely a buzzing in the air near the front of Mardenholde Keep, the ancestral home of the Fordring family and now the training headquarters of the Argent Crusade. Then a narrow point of sapphire energy appeared from nowhere, hovering in the air. The point expanded outwards into what looked like an oval tear or puddle of blue light standing vertically. Those who saw it became alert, sending people to notify Lord Tyrosus immediately, but they took no hostile action. Travel by mage’s portal was common and most recognized one opening when they saw it.

 

When the portal had reached the same height as a tall human, a much taller, aged Draenei man in vestments stepped through it, placing his left blue hoof firmly on the ground before it was joined by his right. Then stepping away from the portal, two more Draenei men dressed in the armor of the vindicators of their people followed him. Finally, a much shorter human woman in her mid thirties with shoulder length strawberry blond hair and green eyes wearing a dark blue woolen dress and white blouse came next, followed by a man not much older than she dressed in Mage’s robes. Most onlookers presumed that the latter man was the Mage that had opened the portal.

 

When the portal closed again, the aged Draenei man turned to the Mage and said, “Wait here for the moment. We may still need you to return to Stormwind tonight.”

 

“Of course, your grace.” The royal Mage had replied to Velen.

 

The woman’s eyes were wide as she looked around her new surroundings. Miriam Davidson had never traveled by Mage’s portal and the effect was disorienting. One minute she had been standing in Stormwind Keep with the Draenei and the Mage, and then she had just stepped into the blue light and found herself in the middle of a town she had never seen before.

 

Velen had returned to her husband’s shop where he had finally been able to introduce himself to her and why he had been searching for her. He had told her that he meant to travel north into Hearthglen in the Western Plaguelands and under the circumstances had felt he should offer to bring her with him.

 

“I believe it is time I met your son, Mrs. Davidson.” The Draenei cleric had told her. “I am willing to bring you with me if you wish. I believe this to be only right. I cannot promise it will not be without risk. The Plaguelands are a dangerous place, but I understand it has been a long time since you have seen him. I too had a son once that I thought lost a long, long time ago. I would have given almost anything to see him again before the end came.” His eyes had misted over when he told her this. “I would give you that chance that I did not have.”

 

Joseph and her teenage sons had agreed to remain behind with Sarah and await word from her, though he had of course wanted to join her. “Just let me know he’s okay.” Joseph had told her. “That’s all I want to know.”

 

She now stood beside that same Draenei man that wanted to speak with her son as well, her eyes wide open looking this way and that. Would she see him right away? Would she know even what he looked like now? How much had he changed? He would be a full grown man by now.

 

A tall, muscular human wearing ornate plate armor of a Pandaran origin, a black eyepatch over his right eye, and the tabard of the Argent Crusade then came walking out of the gates of the Keep with a Night Elf woman in armor wearing the same tabard walking behind him slightly. He had short, graying strawberry hair and a flowing handlebar mustache.

 

“Prophet Velen,” The man addressed the elder Draenei, offering his hand in a friendly, familiar gesture. “This is an honor. I haven’t seen you since the battle at Antorus. That was a costly victory.” His tone of voice was one of one old soldier reminiscing with another.

 

“Indeed it was, Lord Tyrosus.” Velen returned, remembering it all too well, ignoring the man’s use of his former title. “We lost many good people that day. But Azeroth was at least saved and the Legion destroyed once and for all at its root. I am glad to see you well and your people thriving.”

 

Velen glanced around at the large number of people and gestured towards them.

 

“Yes, well they’re not all exactly ours. A couple hundred of them came as refugees a few days ago along with a strange vagabond teacher called Jeshua.” Tyrosus replied. “They came with the most incredible story I have ever heard. I would have called it crazy, but when two hundred people are telling you the same thing, you have to pay attention to it.”

 

“Jeshua?” Miriam nearly gasped, listening to the conversation. “You know where he is, my lord?”

 

“Indeed, my lady. He and his followers have been given use of a house on the west side of Hearthglen.” Tyrosus replied to her. Noticing her for the first time he studied her features feeling like he had seen her before. “You look familiar, have we met, lady?”

 

“No, my lord. I’m sure I would have remembered.” She replied. “May I see him, my lord?” She asked hopefully.

 

“Yes, indeed.” Velen added. “He is, in fact, the reason why we have come. News of his… er, exploits have reached all of the Eastern Kingdoms, Stormwind included. I would very much like to speak with him as well.”

 

“I have no objections, and from what I’ve heard from him, I can’t see why he would either. I will lead you there myself.” Lord Tyrosus told them.

 

They began walking towards the western edge of the town, passing a number of recruits wearing the Argent tabard as well as people dressed in torn clothing that appeared as though it might have belonged on a corpse once.

 

Just as they were about to reach the house, guards came running up to their leader, “My lord, you need to come quickly to the gates!”

 

“I have guests, Marcus.” He replied to the guard who had spoken to him. “What is so urgent?”

 

“The Banshee Queen, my lord!” Marcus replied, the fear evident on his features. “She’s here with a contingent of her archers! She’s waiting at the gate and asked to speak with you!”

 

“Sylvanas is here?” Maxwell Tyrosus repeated, alarm in his voice. “Damn.” He swore. He then turned to the guards with him and said, gesturing to Miriam, “Take this woman and the Mage that brought them back to the Keep! Get the civilians under cover! Get the recruits armed and wait for my word! Go!”

 

“Wait! I want to see my son!” Miriam protested, but the guards followed their orders and took her back the way they had come until those orders were to be changed.

 

Concern in his own voice, Velen said, “I understood you were on neutral footing with the Horde.”

 

“We are. We always have been. Half of our recruits come from Horde lands.” Tyrosus responded. “Their warchief has never bothered to pay us a visit any more than Stormwind’s king has.”

 

The Paladin then looked towards the civilians being brought into the houses and towers of the town. “But I’ve got a good idea why she would be here now. I believe you and your vindicators should remain here for the moment until I know what she wants.”

 

“We will.” He agreed. They were standing next to the house to which Tyrosus had been leading them to meet Jeshua.

 

“What’s happening?” A man in the armor of a Forsaken Deathguard came out of the house asking, glancing briefly at the tall Draenei visitors before facing the Paladin lord. “Why are people being ordered off the streets.”

 

“Your queen has come. She’s at the gates.” Tyrosus responded.

 

“The Dark Lady? She’s here?” The Deathguard replied. “She’s come for us, then.”

 

“I’m going to find out, but I’d say it was a safe bet; you and the Priest you brought with you.” Tyrosus replied. “You know we don’t take sides, and you are her people.”

 

“We are.” The human Deathguard nodded in agreement. “Then let us meet her in an appropriate manner. I will inform the teacher as well.”

 

The Deathguard returned back into the house and Tyrosus left Velen where he was to meet the undead queen.

 

When the Paladin lord reached the gates he found himself looking at a skeletal horse with detailed purple barding armor ringed in unnatural violet fire. The horse’s skull was clearly exposed with demonic horns like an elk’s extending up sharply. It was both terrifying and majestic in it’s appearance. The undead horse’s rider was no less so.

 

“I don’t like to be kept waiting, Paladin.” Sylvanas Windrunner told him as he approached.

 

“It takes some time to get from Mardenholde to the gates, Sylvanas.” He retorted. His sense of etiquette towards the Horde warchief was dimmed by the ten hooded undead Dark Rangers that flanked her. “Didn’t think you needed to bring your whole army today?” He asked, only half sarcastically.

 

“I’m not here to fight with you, Lord Tyrosus.” She returned. “I’m looking for a large number of my townspeople that left Tarren Mill over a week ago. My Rangers tell me that they are here. I seek to speak with them. I want to know why they abandoned the town and came here.”

 

 _You know damn good and well why they left or you wouldn’t be here._ Tyrosus thought but didn’t say. To the Forsaken queen he said, “I’ve given them sanctuary and the protection of the Argent Crusade. As long as your Rangers stay here, you can enter and speak with them. I give you my word no harm will come to you.”

 

Sylvanas smirked at the idea that she needed her Rangers’ protection. “And why would my own people need protection from me? I am the one who protects them.”

 

She then motioned for her Rangers to hold where they were while her mount moved forward.

 

“You’ll have to ask them that. They’ve all undergone a few, uh… changes.” Tyrosus told her as he stepped aside and allowed her horse to pass through the gates.

 

“Show me.” She demanded.

 

She road next to him as he led her into the town. On the streets around them were dozens of men and women of all races wearing the tabards of the Crusade. All of them kept their swords sheathed, but hands rested comfortably on the pommels ready to draw them at a moment’s notice.

 

“I see you continue to maintain your inclusion of all races, Alliance and Horde, in your order.” Sylvanas noted as she saw the Orcs, Tauren, and Blood Elves wearing the Argent colors alongside humans, dwarves, and Night Elves.

 

“Tirion wouldn’t have it any other way and neither would I.” Tyrosus responded. “I’ve known good and honorable warriors on both sides. I even still keep in touch with Liadrin on occasion in Silvermoon. Fought side by side with her on Argus.”

 

“No doubt.” Sylvanas replied evenly.

 

They walked a little ways farther. And then in front of them as they approached stood two rows of helmeted Deathguards in the street next to a house. Sylvanas counted twenty in all who wore the armor of her soldiers and the colors of her people. A little ways behind them stood three Draenei, one of whom she recognized very well. They stood silently, observing the proceedings but remaining at a distance. Taking note of their presence, she turned her attention back to the Deathguards in front of her.

 

As she approached the Deathguards she could sense something wrong. These were all living humans.

 

“What is this?” Sylvanas asked, pulling the reins up on her horse.

 

Then the Deathguards all as one dropped to one knee before her horse and saluted her. “My queen.” One of them addressed her.

 

“Who are you? What trickery is this?” She demanded of the Paladin. “What happened to my people?”

 

“My queen, we are your people. We left Tarren Mill over a week ago.” The Deathguard replied.

 

“Remove your helmet, Deathguard. Let me see your face.” She ordered him, disbelieving.

 

The Deathguard obeyed and removed his helmet. What she saw was sweaty blond hair covering a healthy pale skinned human head and intelligent but fearful brown eyes. “My queen, we have been cured.”

 

She studied the man’s features, looking for any evidence of magic or trickery but could find none. Still, she could not believe what her own eyes and senses were telling her. Her elven ears could pick out the heart beat of the men in front of her, but no human would ever address her as queen.

 

“Swear to me your loyalty, Deathguards. Prove to me that you are Forsaken.” She demanded of them.

 

Each man in Forsaken armor drew his sword and planted the tip of it firmly on the cobblestone of the street. “We so swear our lives to you, Sylvanas Windrunner, our queen.”

 

Taken aback by their lack of hesitation, and the pride with which they said it, mixed with fear though it was, she asked, “How did this happen to you?”

 

“My queen, it was through the powers of a teacher called Jeshua who appears to have an unusual command of the Light.” The guard responded, his tone deferential.

 

“The Light?” She repeated, her own features appearing stunned at the thought. Of course she had been told as much by the Orc, Krusk, but here was the evidence clearly laid out in front of her. “The Light cured you?”

 

“Yes, my queen, and not just us but the entire town of Tarren Mill.” The Deathguard replied. “All of us.”

 

Sylvanas tried to wrap her mind around it and found that she couldn’t. Up to that point, she hadn’t truly believed the Orc soldiers’ wild tale and thought that something else had caused the people of the town to go mad and desert their homes and responsibilities.

 

 _There is a cure. A real cure._ The thought ran through her mind again and again. _After all this time, there is a cure. There is a hope for us._

 

“Where is this man who is responsible?” She demanded. “I would speak with him.”

 

“Of course, my queen. By your leave.” The Deathguard answered, not moving until she had gestured her permission. He then quickly exited into the house next to them. A few minutes later he returned followed by a thin human in tattered brown linen clothes, worn down to threads and stained from hard travel. His heavily calloused feet were bare.

 

Sylvanas studied the human’s face for some time. _I know that face._ She thought to herself, but did not immediately recognize from where. His reddish blond hair tied back in a ponytail and full beard reminded her strongly of someone, but who? She couldn't put her finger on it. Otherwise, he appeared to be an average young human man. There appeared to be nothing different about him at all except…

 

He was smiling at her. It wasn’t a fearful smile at all, but a calm and sincere one as though he was genuinely glad to see her. No one was genuinely glad to see the Banshee Queen. This man Jeshua smiled a welcome to her like she was an old friend he hadn’t seen in a long, long time, and wanted to get to know again.

 

“Who are you, human?” She demanded from him from the back of her horse.

 

“My name is Jeshua, Sylvanas, but you already knew that.” Jeshua responded.

 

 _Not a dullard at least then_. She thought.

 

“What did you do to my people? What magic or sorcery did you use for this?” She questioned him, gesturing to the Deathguards.

 

“No sorcery.” He responded. “The Light wants to restore, heal, and save everyone. The Light abandons no one, Sylvanas.” He then repeated it again for emphasis, “No one.” And then added, “The Light calls all into its embrace.”

 

Sylvanas’ eyes opened wide at his words and his manner. _Is the human out of his mind?_ She looked again though at the now living Deathguards still kneeling before her in deference. _Can it really be true?_ She wondered.

 

She weighed his answer, and the evidence before her eyes. “We’ve searched for decades to find a cure for our…” She searched for the right word before settling on, “condition. No one, no Shaman, no Druid, no Priest has ever been able to do what these claim you have done to them. How is that possible?”

 

“The Light loves this world and every person in it.” He responded. “The Light sent me as a message to everyone here that whoever would come to me would find healing and salvation.”

 

“The Light burns us human. Paladins and Priests used the Light to hunt us like animals.” She retorted, her bitterness and anger rising to the surface.

 

“The Light hasn’t sent me to destroy anyone, but that all those who come to me might be saved.” He told her, and then emphasized again, “Everyone, Sylvanas.” His green eyes met her red glowing ones directly as he said this, his voice taking an urging personal tone as if he wanted her to fully understand his meaning.

 

“You haven’t answered my question, human. How can you do what the others could not?” She demanded, decades of anger rising behind her eyes.

 

“The Light asks forgiveness in return for forgiveness. It asks that we not judge others in return for not being judged. How can a man who harbors anger and hatred truly be used by the Light to heal others? There has been far too much hatred and anger in this world for far too long. The Light calls all to forgive. The Light calls all to healing and peace.” He told her.

 

Velen stood motionless in the background listening to his words. Even though the man’s back was to him, his words felt like daggers directed at the Draenei cleric himself.

 

“Forgiveness?” She questioned, pronouncing the word as something alien and unfamiliar to her. But there was a sincerity and genuineness in his eyes and expression that argued strongly for his own belief in his words.

 

Jeshua then began to tell a story, “At one time, a great king had called all of his servants that owed money to him to repay their debts. There was one man, an accountant, who often took large loans from the king’s treasury to spend on risky personal ventures. The king having heard what the man had done ordered him to appear before him where the list of the man’s debts, over a million gold pieces in total, was read out to him. Furious, the king demanded the money repaid immediately. Of course, the man’s investments had all gone sour and he had nothing with which to repay him. The king then ordered the man stripped, beaten, and thrown into prison. He then ordered all of his property and possessions sold to repay his debt. The accountant then threw himself on the king’s mercy and begged for his life and that of his family saying, ‘Your majesty, please have mercy with me. Please be patient. I swear I will pay you back everything!’ Moved by the man’s plea, he then dismissed him and, already being extravagantly wealthy, forgave the man’s entire debt. The accountant however, terrified at what had just happened went and found one of his underlings to whom he had loaned a hundred gold the other day. He grabbed the man by the neck and demanded the money back. The underling groveled at his feet and begged for patience from the man, saying that he would have the money by the next day, but the accountant was furious that he didn’t have it right then. He then fired the man and had his possessions confiscated to repay his debt, throwing the underling out onto the street. The underling's co-workers however saw what had happened and went to the king pleading for justice for their friend. When the king heard, he was furious and then ordered the accountant to be brought before him in chains. When he arrived, the king told him, ‘I let a million gold pieces just go because you begged me for mercy, and you couldn’t even be patient for a hundred?’ Then the king carried out the man’s imprisonment, selling everything he had and throwing his family out with the homeless and outcasts. The man went mad in the darkness of the prison cell, and eventually died there.”

 

“Forgiveness is the key, Sylvanas.” Jeshua then told her. “Forgiveness opens the door so that the Light can shine at its brightest within all of us. Without forgiveness a man falls willingly into darkness like throwing a shade over a lamp to blot out the light.”

 

Velen listened to him intently, his own emotions and feeling warring within himself.

 

Sylvanas’ mind was working as he spoke trying to understand his stake or angle in this. When he was done, she asked, “And my people. What about them, Jeshua? Are they yours now? Do you intend for them to head south to Stormwind?”

 

“Their will is theirs alone.” He replied. “It is their choice whom they will follow, isn’t it?” At this he gestured to the Deathguards, still kneeling in fealty to their queen.

 

The words hit her like an arrow for the impact they had upon her. “They are free to make their own choices, yes.” She replied. “I gave them that choice when I freed them from Arthas’ grasp.”

 

Jeshua nodded. “I haven’t taken it from them. They are free to stay or go as they see fit.”

 

Sylvanas thought about this deeply. If she reacted against them and this man, not only would it make an enemy of the Argent Crusade, it would be seen by all those present, including Aiyana whom she knew was still watching nearby, as a rescinding of her “gift” to them. Word would spread among her people that she no longer acted for them but for her own power alone and she would lose the support of the Forsaken themselves. Without them, others would easily oust her from her tenuous position as warchief. If she accepted them and their oath of loyalty, human though they were, she kept them under her banner and she lost no troops or manpower. Indeed, she might even keep spies willing and able to infiltrate Alliance positions and bases without so much as a glance in their direction. But then there was the rest of the Horde to think about. Would they accept humans into their ranks?

 

 _They’ve been cured._ She reminded herself. _It’s what we’ve all been wanting since Arthas stole our lives from us._

 

 _Damn politics. Everything I have done, I have done for them_. She told herself.

 

“Yes,” she finally said, “They are.”

 

Then, addressing the Deathguards she said, “Tell the people of Tarren Mill they are free to return to their homes in Hillsbrad without fear of reprisal or… ‘reconditioning’. I am warchief of the entire Horde as well as queen of the Forsaken, and I protect my people’s interests. All of my people regardless of their race. That is the burden Vol'jin gave me to bear, and I will see it through.”

 

To Jeshua she then said, “My people are free to come to you as they see fit. I leave the choice up to them whether they want the cure you have or not, just as I gave them that choice to begin with. Do not mislead them, human, or interfere with the Horde’s business. If you do, you will suffer my full wrath.”

 

“Of course, Sylvanas. All who come to me will find rest and peace in the Light, no matter who they are.” Jeshua replied, his own smile never wavering. “I look forward to speaking with you again.”

 

Sylvanas looked at him, an eyebrow cocked at his presumption. But then she smirked at him. The human had courage at least. “We shall see.” She finally said.

 

She then pulled on her reins and turned her skeletal mount around. Nodding respectfully at a stunned Lord Tyrosus, she rode back through the town towards the Dark Rangers who awaited her. As she rode, the thought of Nathanos, her oldest friend and confidante, came to her mind, but not as he now was. Instead the thought of his handsome features, and the way he held her hand long before the plague, filtered its way into her thoughts and she couldn’t stop them.

 

 _There is a cure, Nathanos_. She found herself thinking. _There is a cure._

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

 

In Hearthglen later that evening…

 

Within the common room of the two story house where Jeshua and his followers had taken up residence, a furious debate was happening among the refugees from Tarren Mill. Jeshua and those with him watched, but Jeshua himself offered no input unless asked, and even then he refused to give an opinion as to what they should do. The decision had to be theirs and theirs alone. He would not make it for them.

 

“Either she is our queen, or she is not.” Craig Hewitt told the gathering. “She told us we could all go home if we wanted. She left it up to us like she always has.”

 

“Are we really kidding ourselves on this?” Another man spoke up. “We know what happens to humans in Forsaken lands. We’ve…” The man then looked towards Jeshua and his apprentices. “We’ve done it ourselves, sending them off to the fields at Hillsbrad or the boneyards at Deathknell. We almost did it to these folks here. Do you really think we’re just going to be allowed to go back and live in peace?”

 

“That is what she said.” The Deathguard who had become the town’s unofficial spokesman, Cletus Callahoon, reminded them. “She’s got to be the leader, not just of the undead, but all the Horde people now, living and undead. We keep faith with her, and she’ll keep faith with us. That’s what I got out of it anyway.” He then said, speaking to the man who had spoken against returning, “Look, this isn’t an all or nothing proposition, Mikhail. If you want to stay here, that’s up to you. That’s what free will is about. Whether we’ve got living flesh or not she’s given us the choice once again. I for one am going to take it. She is still my queen.”

 

The debate continued much like that for some time until a knock came, and the wooden door opened slowly, hesitantly even so that few in the room even noticed except for the slight creaking sound it made. Slowly and quietly, a woman dressed in a dark blue woolen dress, matching hooded cloak, and white blouse stepped through the door. She drew back her hood from her head in order to see the inside of the house better. Her eyes had been red from crying, and tear stains still could be seen on her cheeks. Her reddish blond hair, so much like her son’s except for the fine silver hairs which had started to show, was down at her shoulders having come out of the ponytail she had it in. Her expression looked haggard and tired, hopeful and frightened as she looked into the room.

 

Miriam scanned the expansive downstairs filled with people, mostly humans, looking for Jeshua. The common room was packed however with people standing one next to the other like canned fish sold in the market. There must have been more than fifty people at least, and the woman could not see anyone that resembled what she remembered her son having looked like.

 

She had finally been able to come after the devil woman had left, and the Draenei prophet had thought it to be safe.

 

“I will attempt to meet with him tomorrow.” Velen had told her kindly, they having been welcomed as guests of Mardenholde Keep. “Tonight, I believe it is time for you and your son to speak privately.”

 

The sky had been clear that evening as she was escorted to the house by an elven recruit, a seemingly young, red headed woman from Silvermoon City as she had learned. Of course, where elves were concerned one could never really tell their true age. Her eyes and expression had been professional, but not unkind to the human woman.

 

Standing near Jeshua, Vasuuvata, being Draenei and taller than most of those others present saw the woman standing uncertain of herself by the door appearing to be searching for someone. The human had been standing on the toes of her boots trying to see past the people. Vasuuvata discreetly slipped away from the other apprentices and made her way through the crowd of people to the woman still standing behind the press of bodies by the door.

 

“Who are you looking for?” Vasuuvata asked kindly. “Perhaps I can help.”

 

The red headed woman looked up into the face of the Draenei. Her alien eyes seemed gentle and trustworthy to her. “I’m looking for my son, Jeshua.” She responded. “Do you know him?”

 

Vasuuvata’s eyes widened at her words. “You are his mother?” She then asked.

 

“Yes. Yes, I am. My name is Miriam. Miriam Davidson. A man like you, Velen, brought me here with him to see my son. Is he here?” She responded, still asking to see Jeshua.

 

“The Prophet is here as well?” Vasuuvata asked, surprise and reverence filling her features.

 

“Yes, he is. He remained at the keep until I had a chance to speak with my son. Please, would you take me to him?” Miriam asked, her own eyes pleading. She was so close to him, she could feel it, yet she could not see him.

 

Vasuuvata looked at the mass of people still debating their future and thought quickly. _No_ , she decided, _it won’t do for them to meet down here. That wouldn’t be appropriate._

 

“Come, I will bring you upstairs and then let the teacher know you are here.” The Draenei woman told her.

 

“The teacher?” Miriam questioned aloud.

 

The Draenei woman nodded, and then led Miriam upstairs where it was much quieter. She then offered her a comfortable seat while she went back downstairs to speak with Jeshua. Miriam however could not sit. She stood up, and began walking back and forth across the open space at the top of the stairs. She wondered who this Draenei woman was, and why she called Jeshua, “the teacher.” She wondered what her son looked like, where he had been, and why he hadn’t written to let them know he was alive. She wondered at the rumors that had spread about him; rumors wild enough to even bring such an important figure as Velen to see him and to interest the government of Stormwind. She also wondered about the incident this morning. She knew that the Banshee Queen, the undead woman who had murdered the only family she had known and destroyed her world when she was only a teenager, had arrived demanding to see someone. Had it been her son?

 

 _What have you done, Jeshua?_ She wondered. _Why does all the world now want to see you?_

 

She waited for some time until she heard padded footsteps on the stairs. She turned towards them to see a young bearded man with hair and eyes like her own stepping into the upstairs room on bare feet. His clothing was pitiful, and he looked gaunt and thin. But there was the calmness, the peace she had known in his eyes from when he was only a child.

 

“Jeshua?” She asked.

 

“Mother?” He responded.

 

Then she ran to him and held him tightly. She had no words, but her tears flowed freely once more. Jeshua returned the embrace gently, holding his mother in his arms against his shoulder. She stayed like that for some time as he stroked her hair.

 

Then, she backed away from him without warning and slapped his face hard.

 

“Where have you been?!” She yelled at him. “You didn’t write. You didn’t send word! We had given up hope! How dare you do that to us!”

 

Seven years of pain all came barreling out at him, and he just stood there, waiting to take it, refusing to defend himself. Jeshua’s eyes were sad, and his head heavy as he looked at her. The imprint of her hand on his face turned into a red welt as he stood there, letting her vent years of sleepless nights, worry, and frustration on him.

 

“What is going on, Jeshua?! Who are those people down there? Why did that Draenei woman call you a teacher? Why do important people want to talk with you? What have you done?” His mother’s questions came hard and fast, but he remained silent until she was spent, which took some time.

 

After minutes which seemed like forever, she began to settle down somewhat. Finally he responded, “I’m sorry I hurt you, Mom. I had to follow the will of my sire, and that will led me here to do the Light’s will, and finish the work it wants me to.”

 

“The will of your sire? What do you mean? What work are you talking about, Jeshua?” Miriam interrogated him as only a mother can question her son. “What did the Light call you to do?”

 

Briefly she remembered the appearance of the being who told her of her pregnancy. The Light had called her to an impossibly difficult thing as well, as it was continuing to prove to be.

 

“To save our people, Mom. To restore the Light to the entire world.” He told her. “Those people downstairs will be a part of it. I’m going to make everything new again.”

 

“What do you mean, save our people?” She asked, not understanding his meaning. “From who, the Horde?”

 

“You do know who our people are, Mom, don’t you?” He asked her, certain of the answer. “It was shown me, once, in a vision not very long ago. They think the Light has abandoned them and they fear its touch. I’m here to show them that the Light abandons no one, and calls them back to itself freely.”

 

Miriam’s mind then, of its own accord, went back to that conversation with Joseph she had, largely forgotten, about the Mages that had visited them. Joseph, curious, had researched her and her son’s origins as best he could, tracing them possibly to the Menethils, the last royal family of the Kingdom of Lordaeron.

 

 _Lordaeron_. _But Lordaeron fell, there are no people left just… just…_

 

“You can’t mean…?” She responded as she worked out his meaning.

 

“Those are our people, Mom. Just like those are our people downstairs whom the Light embraced and healed. Tomorrow, they’re going home to Tarren Mill in Hillsbrad, fully cured, but more will come just like they did earlier today.” Jeshua told her.

 

Miriam couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Had her son lost his mind in his travels? She had heard the rumors, but like most had trouble believing them.

 

“I want you to come home with me, Jeshua. Come home to Joseph and your brothers and sister.” She told him in a voice only a mother could use.

 

“I can’t. Not now. I don’t know if I ever can.” He told her flat out. “I’m sorry. I have to finish what I’ve begun.”

 

“I am your mother, Jeshua Davidson, and I am telling you to come home with me, right now!” She told him sternly.

 

“My mother is the woman who heard the word of the Light and obeyed it willingly.” He responded softly, but loud enough for her to hear.

 

She slapped him again hard on the other side of his face. Another hand shaped red welt rose to match the first. Pain was fresh and red on her own face as his words stung her. Then, realizing what she had done, she clapped her hands to her face, and began to sob.

 

“I’m so scared Jeshua. I just don’t want to lose you again.” She told him.

 

Jeshua moved forward to hold her again, trying to comfort her but holding his own ground. “I have to finish what’s begun, Mom. I can’t stop until everything has changed.”

 

“You’re just one man, Jeshua.” Miriam whispered as she accepted his embrace. “The problems of this world are so much bigger than we are. The people you’ve caught the attention of, Jeshua, they won’t hesitate to use you for their own advantage, or destroy you if you get in their way. I saw what the Forsaken army did to Gilneas. I saw it with my own eyes. We both only barely escaped with our lives. The Banshee Queen won’t hesitate to murder you and raise your corpse as some monstrosity.”

 

Jeshua replied, holding her out away from his chest so that he could see her face. “But like the others, she wasn’t given the choice to be what she is. She was just as much a victim to the Lich King as anyone else. She’s granted permission for the cured to return home unmolested, and for as many of the Forsaken to come to me as want to. The Light is calling to her too, Mom.”

 

“You’re not going to come home with me, are you?” She asked, her hopes fading. “I had thought… I had hoped… Joseph wanted to see you, and Jimmy and Jude and… What do I tell them?”

 

“Tell them I’m well and I’m doing what I was meant to do.” He replied. “Tell them I love them all, and I’m doing this for them too.”

 

* * *

 

The next day…

 

The following day after breakfast, having made their decision, most of the humans from Tarren Mill set out on the journey to return home. Those who didn’t made request of Lord Tyrosus to be put to work where in Hearthglen, offering their skills to the Argent Crusade where they could. In all, over two hundred people sought refuge in Hearthglen, and nearly two hundred people then left for their homes in the more southern province the way they came.

 

The house where Jeshua and his apprentices remained in felt much emptier now. Jeshua had asked to be alone that morning, and was spending time in an upstairs room, kneeling on the floor, deep in contemplation. On his encouragement, at least for now, his mother had returned earlier that morning to Stormwind by way of the Mage and his portal that had brought her and the Draenei there to Hearthglen. She would tell them that he was at least well, and they needed her more than he did, especially his much younger sister, Sarah.

 

His mother’s visit hadn’t come without an emotional cost to him. It opened fresh the wounds which had been inflicted upon his leaving for both of them. He didn’t fault her for her anger, or for her lashing out at him. He had, in some ways expected it, but that did not lessen the blows when they came.

 

His sire embraced him in the contemplation as the Light always did, encouraging and reassuring him. The meeting the night before had been emotionally exhausting even as he sent his mother away again to return home. He let go of his own pain, allowing the Light to take it and consume it within its own compassion and love. His sending her away, painful as it had been, had also been an act of compassion even thought it had not felt like one. It was just too dangerous for her to be where he was right now. Hearthglen might be a safe haven, but he could not stay here forever either. His sire was calling him west. Not yet, but eventually, and that road would be the hardest one yet for any of them.

 

 _Knock! Knock!_ There was a mild rap on the door of the room he knelt motionless in and it drew him out of his contemplation. He knew that those with him wouldn’t have disturbed him if it wouldn’t have been for good reason.

 

He opened his eyes and allowed himself to reorient back to where he was in space and time.

 

“Shan’do?” He heard a Night Elf voice call out. It belonged to Syloren.

 

“Yes?” Jeshua replied back, recovering his voice.

 

“Shan’do, you have more visitors.” Syloren told him. “They would like to speak with you.”

 

“Of course.” Jeshua replied as he got to his feet. “I’ll be down quickly.”

 

He turned to a set of clothes lying on the bed which had been left for him much earlier that day. With them came mixed feelings. He had been grateful that they had been given, but was himself not concerned with his own clothing or appearance.

 

A package had been left with Vasuuvata for him by his mother before she departed. When it had been given to him and he had opened it, he had been surprised to see a long, dark gray woolen robe, fresh white linen shirt, and woolen pants with belt. The robe held an insignia of the Argent Crusade on the breast, but otherwise the clothes held no other ornamentation, his mother knowing he would never wear them if they did, but they were clean, well made, and new. She had also included a new pair of leather sandals for his feet. When the Draenei woman had received the package from her, Miriam had told her, “Tell my son these are for him. I had to guess at the sizes, and the quartermaster here didn’t have much, but they should fit. It gets cold this far north and it wouldn’t do for him to get sick.”

 

He had not asked for the gift, or any gift from his mother. He had not expected anything. He had worn the same clothes he had now for a long, long time. They had served their purpose even as he moved to fulfill his own. Neither, he decided, would he spurn it. She had purchased the clothes for him out of a sincere motherly concern, and maybe it was a way of saying she forgave him. He would not reject that by rejecting the clothing.

 

He pulled off his old garments and pulled on the new ones. They felt fresh and clean as he did, though the new wool itched a bit as wool always does. Taking the leather sandals, he found that they fit well, and gave his feet good support as he laced them up.

 

Fully dressed he left the room to come downstairs. There, in the common room sat three Draenei men, one of whom was very ancient, even for a Draenei man. The elder one’s beard was snow white, and it reached almost to his belt line. The lines of a hard life and the burden of responsibility hung heavy upon him. He stood up and the two others dressed in the armor of Draenei Paladins stood with him. There was a sadness in his eyes even as he greeted the human.

 

“Greetings, Jeshua.” The Draenei man offered. “I am honored to finally meet you. I have heard a great deal about you and the command of the Light you possess from many different people.”

 

“Greetings to you, Velen, Prophet of the Light.” Jeshua returned, gesturing for the much older man to sit down again.

 

Velen appeared to pause uncomfortably at the title Jeshua gave him

 

“The things I have heard you capable of,” Velen began, “demonstrate a communion with the Light unheard of even among my own people, though what you teach is... controversial, shall we say, at least from what I heard yesterday in your exchange with Sylvanas. There are some in Stormwind who would take a dim view of what you did and said.”

 

Jeshua studied the man. He could see the deep pain and loss he had gone through etched in every wrinkle and expression of his face. Thought it was obvious such an important man had come in some official capacity, there was also a personal searching in his eyes, a longing for answers he thought he might find with him.

 

“Unless you have been reborn in the Light, you won’t understand how the Light reigns.” Jeshua told him.

 

Velen’s expression became one of confusion. He wasn’t certain he understood what the renegade preacher had said. “I’m sorry? What do you mean, ‘reborn in the Light’?”

 

Jeshua responded, “When a human mother gives birth, it is a human babe to which she gives birth. When a Draenei woman gives birth, it is a Draenei babe to which she gives birth. So it is in the natural world. Kind gives birth to kind. You wouldn’t expect a Draenei to give birth to a human child, nor a human, say, to an Orc. Imagine the poor midwife who discovered that!”

 

Velen smirked at the image of some poor human woman discovering a tusked green skinned child. It was a wicked thought perhaps, but humorous. Still, he didn’t understand where Jeshua was going with this.

 

“So also the Light gives birth to Light, and Shadow to Shadow.” Jeshua continued. “The Light does not give birth to Shadow but wherever it shines, the Shadow vanishes because it cannot exist in its radiance. Neither can the Shadow give birth to or understand the Light or the ways of the Light. In order to understand the Light, one must be born by the Light. You are a Priest of the Holy Light, surely you know this, Velen.”

 

Velen did not answer, but appeared to be trying to understand his words as though they were still a complex riddle to him. A look of frustration appeared on his face as he said, “I don’t understand.”

 

Jeshua looked at him intently. No, it wasn’t that the Draenei man didn’t understand. Jeshua saw into him in a way few could. It was that there was a taint of Shadow there that wrestled with his understanding. In truth, the venerable Prophet understood what he was saying only too well. “I only teach what I know and have experience with. You do understand what I’m saying now and what I told Sylvanas yesterday only too well, but you’re not accepting it because of the Shadow which has taken hold of you.”

 

Velen then stared at the young human. “You know nothing about me.” He told him defensively, agitation rising in his voice.

 

“No one truly knows the Light, but the Light itself and the one who has been born of it.” Jeshua said. “The Light shines in the darkness, revealing those things the Shadow would rather keep hidden, purifying and consecrating them again when the Shadow would keep them impure and tainted. Hatred and bitterness are not of the Light but of the Shadow. Hatred is an absence of love, and the Light is love, Velen. The Light loved the people of Azeroth so much that it sired a son so that everyone who would come to him would find salvation and redemption and not be lost to the Shadow. The Light didn’t send me into this world to destroy or take retribution on anyone, but my sire sent me here to save this world. Let me help you find your way again, my friend. Let the Light be reborn within you once more.”

 

Velen sat in the chair he had been in silent at Jeshua’s words. A struggle was being fought within himself, and he realized for the first time that which he hadn’t wanted to admit to himself. The Light hadn’t forsaken him, he had walked away from the Light the day both Or’os and his son had died. Anger and bitterness had overwhelmed him and he could not let it go. He could not forgive but had wanted vengeance. He had directed that anger and hatred towards the Burning Legion, but found even that once the Legion had been all but destroyed it still remained, and he had nowhere to direct it to but inwards. Ultimately, he had blamed himself for their deaths adding to them all those that died or worse on Argus because he had taken those who would follow him and left, including his wife.

 

Tears came to Velen’s eyes as the pain tore through him fresh and new and his own hands went to his face to cover it for shame. “It was my fault.” He whispered through them. “I shouldn’t have… I failed them. I failed all of them.”

 

The vindicators who had stood behind their leader didn’t know what to do or how to help him. They could see the young human attempting to speak with him gently, and to their surprise with some authority, but they were at a loss with his pain.

 

“The Light is calling to you. My sire is calling you home, Velen.” Jeshua told him, his voice gentle, not much more than a whisper, but audible. “Let me lend my Light to yours.”

 

Jeshua then tenderly reached out a hand to take the Prophet’s own aged, azure skinned hand in his own. A peace flowed from the human’s touch into Velen, a Light stronger and more radiant than Velen’s own communion had ever been. It shone brighter and brighter within Velen’s soul, banishing and dissolving the Shadow which had threatened the Draenei’s very sanity, and flooding him with a calmness and a serenity he had not known for longer than his memory served him.

 

“Let me shine within you once more, my old friend.” The words were Jeshua’s but Velen could feel them deep within his own soul, more ancient than even he was.

 

When Jeshua took his hand away from Velen’s, the aged Draenei man’s soul felt at rest. There was a joy that he could not explain, and a release that had occurred within him as though he had not seen the sun for thousands of years. He looked in amazement at the young human man and without sound escaping his lips, he mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

 

“This is why I have come, to reveal the Light for all to see.” Jeshua replied. “No matter who they are.”


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

At Hearthglen… 

Within the week they started coming. A few at first came from places like Andorhal and farms and villages around the Western Plaguelands. Small traveling groups of five or six undead, having heard of the “miracle” at Tarren Mill, showed up at Hearthglen’s gates seeking the teacher who had cured their Forsaken brothers and sisters. But, by week’s end, there appeared to be no end to the stream of victims to the plague of undeath that came to the Argent Crusade stronghold looking to be restored.

True to her word, the Banshee Queen had not interfered with their free choice in the matter. The people she ruled, grateful for the opportunity, made good use of it. The house where Jeshua and his apprentices were staying soon became inundated with walking corpses asking to be made living once again. And it was not just the undead, but Demon Hunters began coming as well seeking to be cleansed of the demonic taint. They too had heard of the miracle which had occurred with their own brothers and sisters. Jeshua’s days during that time were spent either healing these or in prayer, and hours of sleep became fewer and farther in between as he would not refuse anyone who came to him.

When he was not in the house, he spent time teaching and healing out in the town where all those who had come, as well as recruits and guards not on duty and so inclined, would come and hear him. However, he did not leave the boundaries of the Argent Crusade town all during this time, and neither had his apprentices.

Outside, the soldiers and recruits of the Argent Crusade could see an almost endless sea of rotting, decaying supplicants coming into Hearthglen. It would have raised the alarm just weeks before, but it became such a common sight that no one batted an eye when a rotting corpse happened to shuffle by asking where he might find the teacher who could restore him. They were all directed towards what became known as “The Teacher’s House.” The sight of brilliant light being seen coming from the windows and cracks in the structure where Jeshua cured them became so frequent, that many of those in the town would swear that the timbers, beams, and walls of the house itself began to glow and shine with the Light. This unearthly radiance could especially be seen when the sun went down. A new surname for Jeshua began circulating among those coming to see him. It began when an undead man asked to see “Jeshua Lightborn.”

Most of those who came to Jeshua, like the people of Tarren Mill, elected to return home afterwards to their towns and settlements, trusting the word of their queen as they had done after being freed from the Lich King's control. A few however, here and there, would remain behind to continue to listen to Jeshua when he was able to teach those who wanted to follow the path he taught. These seemed to grow in number every day as well. Even Lord Tyrosus himself appeared to come and listen to Jeshua when he taught out in the open, in an unused training yard or an open stretch of grass. The Paladin lord always returned to Mardenholde Keep with a pensive and reflective expression as he tried to understand Jeshua’s meaning.

One morning, during an unusual period of calm in the house, Jeshua called all of his apprentices together into the main bedroom on the second floor of the house. The meeting was unusual in that, by that time, not long after breakfast had been given, he would normally be out walking among the throngs of people who had come to see him. There were bags under his eyes, and they could see that he hadn’t been sleeping well even as he sat on the bed to speak while they stood in a circle around him.

He spoke to the eight of them who had been gathered there, “You have all been with me since the beginning. The crowds are growing bigger every day. The work has grown too big for me alone, and Hearthglen can’t contain all of those coming for help. There are many more out there who I know would come if they knew about me.”

“It seems sometimes like all of Lordaeron’s descended on us.” Jim remarked, nodding. “I used to shudder every time I’d see one of them, you know? I was always afraid o' gettin’ too close like they’d eat me or somethin’. I never knew they was just folks wanting what everyone else did.”  
The others agreed with Jim.

Jeshua smiled. Jim's words would make what he would say next easier. “As I said, there are still others out there that would travel here if they could. You all have been my students and my apprentices from the beginning and have learned from me this entire time what I teach.” 

He paused for a minute, having thought through what he was going to say next, he searched their eyes as he said, “If you are willing, I am going to send you out to them. I’m just as mortal as each of you are. I can’t be everywhere the Light is needed at once right now. But, if you continue in what I have taught you, the Light will remain with you as well. I am going give each of you the Light’s own authority as I have.”

The apprentices murmured uncertainly at this. Mathaius spoke up, “Teacher, I was a murderer. I stole people’s lives from them. I don’t deserve what you’re offering.”

“Me too.” Thaddeus Jude said, a serious look on his face. “I almost took your own life, Teacher.”

“I ain’t no one special either, Captain. I’ve got more than enough sins on my account. I sure as hell ain’t worthy of that kind of power.” Jim told him.

“Shan’do, you know I’m a coward.” Amerian told him.

One by one, they all protested, saying in no uncertain terms why this was a bad idea. None of them felt like they deserved anything. They didn’t even feel like they could follow Jeshua’s teachings as it stood, much less do what he could do.

“The Light will always be with you. I will always be with you.” He told them, reassuring them. “I’m not looking for perfection. These people don’t need judgmental perfection. They've seen enough of that misguided perversion of the Light from far too many. What they need is to see the Holy Light's compassion. They need to see the Light shine through you, even in spite of your own flaws. You will become the Light’s own emissaries acting in my name. Wherever you go, it will be as if I am there speaking and healing through you.”

They all listened to his words and then stood in silence for some time taking in the weight of his proposal. Jeshua said nothing, but looked back and forth to each one of them. It had to be their decision to follow him in this.

It was Jim who spoke up first again, saying, “Okay, Captain, if that’s what you want me to do, then I’ll do it. What do you have in mind?”

“Heal every illness,” Jeshua began to tell them, “cleanse the Demon Hunters of their taint, cure the Forsaken, pronounce forgiveness on those who seek it, raise the dead. Proclaim the Light’s sovereignty through your words and actions from one end of Lordaeron to the other and up into Quel’Thalas. Don’t go south yet to cross the Thandol Span. Stay in the north for now. You have all seen how I live, and know what I have taught you. Do as I do. Don’t take any money with you, not one copper coin. Don’t take any extra changes of clothes nor backpack for the journey, not even a spare pare of shoes. Don’t take any weapons of any kind, not a skinning knife or even a walking stick. You are the Light’s workers and the Light will protect you and provide for your needs. Listen to the Light's leading. Follow wherever it tells you to go otherwise. In whatever town or settlement you visit, stay with whoever offers you shelter until it is time to move on no matter who it might be. Cure and heal anyone who asks, no matter who it is, and offer the Light to everyone you encounter. If anyone refuses, kindly bless them in return and move on. Don't harm in return for harm done to you. Leave them in the hands of the Light.”

He had their full attention now as he continued, “Make no mistake, the work I am sending you to do will be dangerous. This is no game and no idle assignment I am giving you. Many of you will see things that you have only imagined in nightmares, but the Light will be with you. I realize I am sending you out like sheep among slavering wolves, but your faith must be in me and in the Light. Therefore you must have the wisdom of the great dragon aspects, but be as harmless as pigeons. I won’t lie to you. You may be brought before governors, town leaders, and high magistrates demanding answers; maybe even before kings. Some of them will welcome you, and some of them will seek to destroy you. But don’t be afraid, because the Light will be with you and speak for you, through your very lips, when it comes time for you to speak to them. You will be the emissaries of the Holy Light, and you will speak with its authority.”

It was Amerian who responded to his Shan’do then. He had never hidden his fear from his human teacher, and Jeshua had never rejected him or called him coward for it. Instead, Jeshua’s own courage had inspired him to do more than he had ever thought possible. The Night Elf replied by kneeling before him. “I will go, Shan’do. Whatever you would have me do. I will trust you.”

Then one by one, the others followed suit, taking one knee in front of Jeshua in a gesture of obeisance. “I will do as you ask, Shan’do.” Syloren told him. 

“So will, I Captain.” Jim added, awkwardly getting down on his own knee in front of the much younger man. “Just give the order.”

Jeshua then pressed the palm of his right hand to the forehead of each one of them, saying a short prayer as he did so, consecrating them to the service of the Light: Jim Jacobson, Amerian the Scribe, Vasuuvata the jewelry merchant, Peter and Andrew Haleis the fishermen from Menethil Harbor, Syloren who had been a Demon Hunter, Mathaius Levi the assassin, and Thaddeus Jude, all of them otherwise ordinary people with no formal training or experience with religious or priestly matters. 

A small burst of light like a tiny bright star passed between Jeshua’s palm and the forehead of each one he placed his hand on. “Receive the Holy Light” he said simply as he moved from one to the other. “Whoever you bless, the Light blesses. Whoever you heal, the Light heals. Whoever you forgive, the Light forgives.”

When he was done, he told them, “Remember what I taught you back in the Arathi Highlands on the road to Hillsbrad. The person who tries to preserve himself will instead bring himself to ruin, but the person who brings himself to ruin for the sake of the Light will preserve himself forever. What I have taught you in private, teach to everyone publicly. Remember, you are no longer now your own persons. You will represent me and not yourselves. The person who accepts you in my name is accepting me, but the person who rejects you and the Light you offer them is rejecting me and the Light that sent me.”

He then prayed with them all once more. As he did so, a rush of radiant luminescence passed around and through each one of them, encircling and enveloping them, only fading as his prayer came to an end. Each of them looked at each other. A special kind of peace had come over each one of them. A joy danced in their eyes which hadn’t been there before.

It was Jim, once again, who had been the first to speak after several minutes. With a gleam in his eye, he pointed a thumb in the general direction of the rest of the town and said, “Well, Captain, there’s a bunch o’ people out there just waitin’ to have their hearts beat again. We gonna get this party started or what?”

Jeshua smiled as he stood up wearily from the bed, holding himself up as best he could. “Absolutely.” He replied.

“Whoa, wait a second now, Captain.” Jim then told him. “I don’t know how, but I think we’ve got this one for today. Let’s call it a test run. You rest here. If we run into trouble, we’ll holler at ye.” Then turning to his fellow emissaries he asked, “Everyone okay with that?”

They all nodded in response. “Let’s do this.” Amerian told him.

It was Jeshua’s turn to be surprised at his apprentices. “Go.” He said. “Bring them the Light.”

The eight of them then departed the bedroom, leaving their teacher to rest and recover his strength. They headed downstairs, their spirits high, and opened the door to the house. Outside, dozens of undead at least had gathered and were waiting patiently. Interspersed among them were elves with demonic ram’s horns and leathery wings.

“We have come to see the teacher who can cure us.” A tall undead man with exposed jawbone and teeth told them as they came outside. “We were told he resides here. Please, we would see Jeshua Lightborn.”

Jim Jacobson stepped up to the man, and didn’t flinch from him, but took the man’s own cold, decaying, bony hand into his own gently and told him, compassion in the apprentice’s eyes, “Then the Light cure you in the name of Jeshua Lightborn.”

Light then began to burst from the undead man’s body as flesh was knit back together, blood began to flow once more, dead rotting skin became living and new, and milky white eyes were restored to a brilliant blue on white. Blond hair flowed from his head and around down to his neck. Healthy new skin grew around his exposed teeth and jaws to form perfect pink lips and chin.

“Thank you.” The man told him, tears in his eyes. “I didn’t dare to believe anyone had the power to do it, but when I saw people returning to Andorhal living once more I had hoped...”

“Don’t thank me.” Jim told him, his voice genuine and serious as he saw the fruits of his faith in his teacher. “I don’t have that kind of power. I didn’t do anything. Thank the Holy Light, and thank Jeshua.”

Amerian then spoke up so the whole crowd could hear, “Anyone who wants to be cured, please come, but know that it is the power of the Holy Light through Jeshua Lightborn that heals you!”

The people then began to approach the apprentices, and each one received the cure or cleansing they asked for no matter who it was who asked. No other questions were asked, and no judgments were made about anyone who came. The apprentices placed their own hands on the walking corpses or demonically infested flesh and didn’t shy away from them, praying for them and proclaiming Jeshua’s name to everyone who came to them.

That evening, when the last person had been healed, the apprentices returned to Jeshua, who had spent the day in meditative prayer, amazed at what had occurred through them, though none would claim credit for those restored.

“Be very careful.” Jeshua told them all. “It’s easy to look at what has occurred and think, ‘this thing was done by me.’ Be glad that the Holy Light has allowed you a part in its work, but never forget that it is not your own power which acts upon them.”

They all nodded, taking his words seriously, having felt the same way themselves.

* * *

In Stormwind several days later…

Velen’s report had not sat well with Genn Greymane when he returned from the north. He sat in a comfortable leather chair in a private study in Stormwind Keep that Anduin had given him use of. A half filled glass of bourbon was in his right hand as he worked through what both he and the King of Stormwind had been told. They now had a name, and a face to attach to the name, of the man responsible for all the rumors. What was more important, they had verification that they were not just rumors. They also knew now that he wasn’t working alone, but had “apprentices”. Granted, they were a ragtag bunch of nobodies, but still.

The man is actually doing it. Greymane thought to himself as he had listened to the Draenei cleric speak highly of the renegade in Hearthglen.

And then Velen came to what happened with Sylvanas and the words which passed between them. The man was perfectly willing to work with the undead bitch, and Sylvanas didn’t appear at the time to be going to stop him. Two hundred humans swearing allegiance to the Horde and to Sylvanas in particular was not news that he had wanted to hear. Not at all.

Anduin didn’t appear to see the danger that Greymane had.

“So this man Jeshua has taken a neutral stance then?” Anduin asked when the elderly Draenei man returned three days after departing and made his “report”. The king had appeared unconcerned. “He favors neither Horde nor Alliance like the Argent Crusade itself. We have never had reason to doubt their motives, and the Crusade has proven to be great allies to us regardless of their politics.”

“Yes, he only wants to bring the Light to them and heal those who ask for it. Nothing more, and nothing less. I have seen the recipients of his abilities myself. He is an extraordinary man, and no threat to the Alliance in my opinion.” Velen had told them, his voice almost reverent when speaking. “He and his teachings could be the bridge to a longer lasting peace with the Forsaken, and perhaps with the entire Horde.”

Peace with the Forsaken? Peace with Sylvanas? The suggestion fell sour in Greymane's stomach.

“And these humans that he healed, you say they all swore their allegiance to Sylvanas and then she just allowed them to go home?” Greymane had asked, disbelieving.

“Yes. That is exactly what I saw and heard.” Velen told him.

“So then Sylvanas now has a supply of living human beings she can use as spies to infiltrate our own ranks.” He had told them. He saw it, and he couldn’t imagine the thought hadn’t run through her mind. Why else would she have been so magnanimous?

“Perhaps.” Anduin had conceded. “We will need to wait and see how this unfolds, but Jeshua himself is no threat to the Alliance at present. That is your opinion, Velen, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” The Draenei had said.

Greymane took another sip of the bourbon remembering the Draenei’s answer.

No threat to the Alliance? He could have laughed out loud had he not restrained himself.

The news from SI:7 this morning about the renegade human healer was even less welcome. Shadowmore had reported to his handler, and the spy’s handler, having an understanding with Greymane where the boy king was concerned, had reported to him first before going to Anduin.

The man’s first bit of news only confirmed what they already knew. Tarren Mill’s residents had returned back the way they came. This, while not welcome news, was not a surprise. It was the second report that had set Greymane on edge. And not only Shadowmore’s, but reports were starting to come in from SI:7 agents all over the Plaguelands and Tirisfal Glades.

Shadowmore had observed two of the man’s apprentices he had met when they first came to Chillwind Camp, just fishermen from Menethil Harbor was what he had understood, entering Andorhal alone. When the agent had watched their movements, he had seen them perform the same cure on the Forsaken there as had been described to him by the refugees from Tarren Mill.

The same had been observed by his own Worgen agents in Tirisfal Glades where a Night Elf man and a Draenei woman had been seen curing Forsaken “in the name of Jeshua Lightborn.” Reports came from Hillsbrad and the eastern edge of the Eastern Plaguelands as well.

It would seem that if the Forsaken couldn’t come to the cure, then the cure would come to them. And all of them, disturbingly, appeared to remain loyal even afterwards to the Banshee Bitch that had murdered his son.

Liam. The image of his son floated through his mind like a poltergeist demanding justice.

He had wanted that justice for his son and his kingdom since both fell to the Forsaken. It had been Sylvanas’ own arrow which had taken Liam’s life. It was a debt she had yet to pay for in full. Now, it appeared that justice would be stalled once again.

What if Sylvanas herself chose to be cured? It was a question his mind danced around. She would be reunited with her sisters in one big happy family. Alleria and Vereesa, he knew, were still loyal to the Alliance, but they were still blood to her. Blood always trumps politics and country. What if both she and Blightcaller chose this? Would she get her happily ever after while my son rots in his grave?

No, Sylvanas is warchief of the Horde. Would the Orcs and Tauren follow her if she was a living Sindorei, or would they see her as an enemy like her sisters? That would be the question. Could she even keep her place as warchief if most of the Forsaken became human? But then, they’re not abandoning her in droves either. Would this strengthen her position or weaken it? All of these thoughts turned in his mind over and over again.

One thing was certain in Greymane’s mind however. Somehow, he would make Sylvanas pay for Liam’s death. There would be no salvation for her. There would be no mercy. He would make sure of it. If this Jeshua had other ideas, then he would deal with him as well.

Liam Greymane would be avenged.

* * *

In the Undercity…

Sylvanas stood in her private chambers deep under the ruins of the city of Lordaeron. She had spent most of that day going over reports from her Dark Rangers and spies from around the borders of her own undead kingdom.

Except it didn’t appear any longer to be as undead as it once was. 

She had taken a calculated risk in not destroying the human Priest when she had the chance in Hearthglen. So far, the risk had appeared to be justified. Jeshua had kept his word and done nothing to interfere with the Horde, only healing those who asked for it. And, from what her people told her, while many, many of the Forsaken had elected to go to the man for the cure he offered, there hadn’t been a single report of any of them defecting south to the Alliance. She had several of her spies watching Hearthglen and Andorhal. If there had been any movement towards Alliance outposts or territory, she would have known immediately.

And if the new reports were to be believed, there was now not just one renegade who could cure the undeath, but nine. Jeshua had sent out his followers and had somehow given them the same powers he had. According to her intelligence, they never forced it on anyone, and never required anything of anyone in payment. The cure was given freely to anyone who wanted it, and it was spreading like a wildfire across her dominion.

The question might soon become if it was to be an undead kingdom for much longer, and this left her pensive and tense.

“My lady, I would speak with you.” Came a familiar, yet haunted voice from the entryway of her chambers. “Are we alone?”

“Yes, Nathanos. What is it?” She asked, though her tone of voice was softer towards him than it might have been had someone else intruded upon her.

He moved closer to her from the entryway, and then closed the door behind him, indicating that this conversation would be for their ears alone. The look on the undead human’s handsome, bearded face, nearly as flawless as her own due to a “procedure” she had performed on him years ago by a val’kyr, was pensive and distant as though he had been considering something deeply. His red eyes, not dissimilar from her own were troubled.

“Have you considered this cure?” He finally asked after some time.

The question shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. Her eyebrows raised at him. “I have done little but consider it since being told of it. I have reports coming to me every day regarding it. More and more of our people are choosing life over undeath. The Val'kyr are beginning to wonder if they will have anything to do in the near future.”

“That is not what I meant, Sylvanas, and you know it.” He then told her, becoming more familiar with her than he would have normally. “Have you considered what it could mean for us?”

The expression on her face became pained.

“I...” In truth, that had been in the back of her mind constantly. “I am warchief of the Horde, Nathanos. I don’t have time to think about ‘us’.” She told him. Though softly, almost inaudibly, him hearing in spite of this, “No matter how much I may want to.”

“I would follow you into the abyss of damnation and back, my queen. You know this. But there is a man out there who is offering us, all of us, a chance at redemption and salvation from that fate you saw at Icecrown! Think on it!” The Blightcaller told her.

“Don’t you think I have?” She returned. “It could be the answer I’ve been searching for since breaking free of Arthas’ control. But there are hundreds of thousands of Forsaken under my command that I must see to. There are Tauren, Orcs, Goblins, and even my own people, the Sindorei, that...”

He cut her off, “Must it really be all about them, my queen? What about you? What about me? Would they not follow you with a beating heart as loyally as they do with a dead one? Haven’t they proven this already by returning home and not running into the arms of the Alliance?”

“Time will tell Nathanos. As time drags on we will see. You may be right, but now is not the time for me to take such a risk. Not with war with the Alliance on the horizon.” She told him.

Nathanos moved towards her and took her own cold, unliving hand into his own. The sensations were never what they had been before the Scourge had claimed both of them. His own dead, glowing eyes looked into hers. “I’ve made my decision, Sylvanas. I’m going to see this healer in Hearthglen. I want you to come with me.”

Sylvanas snatched her hand from his. The look of betrayal on her face evident. “How could you?”

“How could you not?” He responded in a low voice. “I have never disobeyed you, either in life or in death. This one time, my queen, I’m exercising my free will as well. I’m asking you to do the same and come with me.”

“I can’t, Nathanos! Not now! Not yet!” She protested. “It could ruin everything we’ve planned! Stormwind must pay for their betrayal of us!”

“But it could save you as well.” He replied. “Damn Stormwind and the rest of the Alliance! I don’t care about them!”

He looked at her, his glowing red eyes almost pleading.

“Get out.” She told him in no uncertain terms, her voice shaking.

A look of sadness crossed the Forsaken hunter’s features as he turned around and departed from her presence. What he didn’t see was the despair which had filled his queen’s features as well. Torn and uncertain of herself for the first time in a very long time, she remained alone in her chambers.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

 

In Hearthglen some time later…

 

Jeshua’s latest visitors were not like those who had first thronged the Argent Crusade town. He had lived mostly alone for some time after sending his emissaries out, and the steady stream of people coming to see him for a cure had whittled down to a trickle, but many of those already cured now came just to hear what he taught. Some came on foot, some by gryphon or riding bat, and some by portal. Many came from various regions around the northern lands, and a few came from even farther north, the Scarlet enclave at New Hearthglen in Northrend, their red vestments and sigils causing no end of consternation among those of the Argent Crusade who had sacrificed much at the hands of the renegade order. In addition, his latest visitors had not come from the northern Forsaken controlled lands or from Northrend, but from Stormwind’s Cathedral District.

 

These latter ones had heard from their own clergy superiors Velen’s report of Jeshua, what he was capable of and what he taught. They wanted to hear from the man himself and make their own judgments.

 

The number of people who were there that day to hear what he had to say had filled the house to the point where there was just no room for everyone even standing, and those who also came to be cured could not reach him or see him. Jeshua then, seeing the problem, left the house and, having asked one of the Crusade’s guards, received permission from Lord Tyrosus to use the wide, open training yard near Mardenholde Keep that late morning because there weren’t any recruits or instructors there that day, it being their own sabbatical day from training. In point of fact, there were a large number of the Argent recruits among those seeking to hear him.

 

The people settled, either sitting on the grassy ground, patched here and there with packed dirt from the continuous footwork of the recruits, or standing next to simple wooden training dummies scarred from continuous blows from swords, hammers, or maces. Within sight was the colossus like statue of the founder of the Argent Crusade order, Highlord Tirion Fording, wielding the almost mythical sword, Ashbringer.

 

The people had thinned out enough to where Jeshua could finally see everyone who had come. It was then he noticed the walking corpses who had been shoved, either intentionally or not, to the back of the crowd by the living.

 

He then moved first towards these few undead who had come to him to be restored, bypassing those wearing expensive tailored vestments and robes who had come to hear him. Three flashes of bright radiant light lit up the training yard as he moved to each one individually, and in their places stood two human women and a man with tearful eyes thanking him profusely. Those among the crowd who had been Forsaken had expected no less from the man they looked on with a gratitude and a kind of reverence for the change that either he had brought on them himself, or his emissaries had effected for them. Those from Northrend and from Stormwind watched with mouths agape and wide eyes, themselves having only previously heard of it, but not seen it. As always, Jeshua demanded nothing in return. No money, no promises, no oaths of allegiance to anyone, including himself. His only concern had been to restore their lives to them.

 

“You are free to stay as you wish, or to return home as you see fit. The Holy Light welcomes you regardless.” He told them.

 

Without more words, all three chose to sit down and hear what he had to say.

 

“The Light blesses those who have nothing, because there is then nothing to cast a shadow when it shines within them.” He taught. “The Light blesses those who grieve, because then it will comfort them. The Light blesses those who are gentle and humble, and it will give all of Azeroth to them as an inheritance. The Light blesses those who are starving for justice, because it will feed them until they burst.”

 

At this last word, Jeshua glanced at those who had been healed with a tender smile, but then looked at those from New Hearthglen and Stormwind and his smile lessened into a more serious expression.

 

“The Light blesses those who show mercy, because the Light will show them mercy as well. The Light blesses those whose hearts are pure, because it reveals itself to them and they see it clearly. Blessed are those who make peace with their enemies, because then the Light will call them its very own children.”

 

Jeshua looked directly at those from Stormwind and New Hearthglen when he said this. All traces of his smile vanishing for just an instant to be replaced with an almost pleading look. Their own expressions however appeared irritated and confused at the suggestion.

 

“The Light blesses those who are persecuted for doing what is right, because the Light's Kingdom belongs to them.” He continued. “Yes. The Light blesses you when people insult you and hunt you, and say all kinds of evil things against you because you are following what it teaches through me. Be glad because those charged with spreading the Light and teaching its ways persecuted even Highlord Tirion Fordring before you,” Jeshua then gestured towards the statue of the great Paladin, “when he followed the Light’s will in protecting Eitrigg the Orc and keeping his promise to him. They stripped him of his title, his lands, and threw him into prison intending to execute him. They thought they could take the Light from him for their own bigoted, petty reasons. But just as he found, the Light does not abandon those who follow its will. The Light forsakes no one.”

 

At this the crimson robed listeners from the Scarlet enclave became visibly shaken, and those clerics from Stormwind were increasingly uncomfortable. His message would not be welcome among the Alliance leadership in the current political climate they knew all too well.

 

Jeshua’s voice became passionate as he spoke, “I am telling all of you who are listening to me today that if you don’t understand love, then you don’t understand the Light, because the Light is love. It is the will of the Light that you love your enemies, love and not hate. How can the person who hates another be following the will of the Light when the Light is love itself? The Light wants that you do good to those who hate you instead. Bless those who persecute you instead. Don’t harm the person who harms you, but have compassion, because this is what the Light does to all who come to it. Think on it, if you only love and do good to those who love and do good to you, what good does that do you? Everyone does that! Don’t judge others and you won’t be judged by the Light. Don’t condemn others, and the Light won’t condemn you. Forgive those who have wronged you, and the Light will also forgive you. Give to others and you will be given the Light a hundred times more. Whatever measurement you use with others, the Holy Light will use with you, and whatever you do for others, the Holy Light will do for you.”

 

He continued to speak like this for over an hour. Those who heard him could not bring themselves to stop listening. The looks on the faces of the clerics from Stormwind were pensive and soured. Those scarlet robed men from Northrend looked pale and unwell at his teaching, but they too did not leave.

 

After some time, an older human man with graying hair and beard who wore stained, old clothes came up to Jeshua as he was teaching. Jeshua greeted them as though he were an old, familiar friend, but there was nothing unusual about that. Jeshua greeted everyone that way.

 

“Captain?” The older man asked. Tears had stained his cheeks recently, and his voice was filled with emotion.

 

“Jim? What’s wrong?” Jeshua asked. “Where’s Syloren?”

 

“Syloren’s fine, Captain, he’s back at Crown Guard Tower in the Plaguelands far east of here. There was a Mage there who opened a portal for me to get back to you today.” He explained.

 

Jeshua waited patiently for further explanation as the man took a minute to compose himself. When he spoke, his face was somewhat haunted, deep sadness and pain written on it. “We did what you asked. We saw the Light do miracles right in front of us just like you do. And then we came to this ruin of a town in the Eastern Plaguelands called Darrowshire.” Jim stopped for a moment to compose himself again.

 

“Go on, my friend.” Jeshua told him gently, placing his hand on his shoulder.

 

“Well, the town'd looked abandoned, but we both just felt like we needed to go there. From what the tower commander'd told us, the whole town'd been wiped out by the Scourge during the third war thirty years ago. There weren’t no survivors. There was pieces o’ dried bones and skulls like a graveyard all over the town.” He told him, and then he added, “’cept there were still people there.”

 

Jeshua nodded, his expression serious. “We met this little girl. ‘cept she wasn’t Forsaken. She was just a ghost. I’d seen them before sometimes, but never one like this before, Captain. She just broke my heart when she talked to me. Her name’s Pamela. This little girl, couldn’t be more than seven or eight years old with pigtails and a pretty smile, just wanted me to help find her doll that she had lost somewhere. I couldn’t say ‘no,’ so Syloren stayed with her while I went and looked. When I did, I ran into some of the other people in the town. They was also ghosts too. They seemed like such good people. I found the girl’s doll and put it back together and brought it to her. She was so thankful. She wanted to introduce us to her dad, and she did. He said his name was Joseph. Longer story short, Captain, they wanted to live again too. I didn’t know if I could do that, and neither did Syloren. They’ve been dead for a long, long time, and not like the Forsaken either. There ain't enough body to heal anywhere for anyone. But I told 'em I’d go talk to you and see if anything could be done for 'em.”

 

“Didn’t I tell you, Jim, that if you continued in my teachings, and the Light remained within you that nothing would be impossible for you? Trust me, my friend, and don’t doubt.” Jeshua told the man gently.

 

One of the clerics from Stormwind, who had overheard the sailor’s story, said in no uncertain terms, “I’m sorry, but that’s truly impossible, sir, even for your teacher here.”

 

At this, Jeshua smirked. “Nothing is impossible for the Holy Light, your grace. You should know that.”

 

“But this, Captain? I’ve heard of mass resurrections before, but these people have been dead and scattered all over the ground for decades. Maybe if you had gotten to them thirty years ago after it happened...” Jim said, his sorrow for what he had seen evident.

 

“I _am_ resurrection, Jim, and I am life itself. The one who allows me to shine within him is alive even if his body dies.” Jeshua gestured to the restored Forsaken in the crowd. “And death has no power over the living man in whom I shine. Do you trust me in this?” He asked his emissary.

 

It was as if a light had gone on in Jim’s eyes, and a fire had been lit. “Yeah, Captain, I do.” He then added with a conviction he himself hadn’t realized, “I believe you are the Holy Light somehow. I don't know how, but you're like the Light decided to put skin on and show us all what it's really like.”

 

The Priests from Stormwind were horrified by the sailor’s proclamation when they heard the exchange, which had not been hidden from anyone. “What blasphemy is this? Why do you people even listen to this lunatic?!”

 

One of them wearing bishop's robes shouted. “No one can do this, no one!”

 

Then, another man in the crowd wearing ripped, torn blue robes stood up and shouted back at them in anger, “A few weeks ago, this ‘lunatic’ gave me a beating heart again, _your grace_.” The irony dripped from his lips as he addressed the cleric. “Something you could never, and would never have even tried.”

 

The Stormwind Bishop averted his eyes from the man, dismissing him with a gesture. But the man would have none of it. “Look at me!” He demanded of the cleric, and the Bishop's eyes met his own furious expression. “I stand here whole because of this _lunatic_ and not because of _you_.”

 

Many of those present nodded in agreement and spoke up in Jeshua’s defense. The Priests were shouted down and silenced.

 

Turning to Jeshua, the robed man said, “Teacher, I am a Mage by discipline. I came from Darrowshire before the Scourge overran it, and I remember the battle there very well, as well as my own death. If there is anything you can do for them, I will be happy to open a portal there right now for you and anyone who wants to see it.” These last words were directed to the offended Priests.

 

“Show me where they are.” Jeshua then told Jim, but also addressed the Mage as well.

 

The Mage began chanting and moving his hands rhythmically in the air, and a sliver of blue light appeared in the middle of the air as though a tear in the fabric of reality itself. It widened slowly until it was large enough to accommodate full grown men. Then the Mage gestured for Jeshua to step through.

 

Jeshua went first, and then Jim, and then the Mage gestured to the Priests if they dared. To their credit, with enraged, angry expressions on their faces, they did, saying, “We’ll put an end to this nonsense here and now.” Then stepping through the portal.

 

Those in the crimson robes of the Scarlet Crusade also elected to step through, though their manner was much different. Not angry, but curious at what they would see, and shaken from Jeshua’s teaching to begin with.

 

After they did, several more of those present who had been listening also went through, wanting to see. Finally, the Mage himself did and the portal closed.

 

* * *

 

In Darrowshire seconds later…

 

Jeshua stepped out of the portal and onto dry, dead ground. The very air around him was filled with a reddish orange mist that permeated everything and stank of death and decay. As he moved aside, Jim came behind him, and then the others who had entered the Mage’s portal in Hearthglen.

 

The town of Darrowshire consisted of a smattering of buildings in various stages of decay and ruin. More than one had completely collapsed in on itself. In the center of the town was a well, though whether there was water at the bottom of it, or if it was even drinkable if there was, was highly debatable. To the east, north, west, and south, reddish hills surrounded the town and it was only accessible by a narrow cart road which ran northwards to the main highway. Some trees dotted the landscape, but they too were an unnatural orange, brown, or reddish color as if Hallow’s End had come to the town and never left. On the ground, like Jim had described, could be seen human bones scatted in the dirt everywhere. Skulls and rib cages could be seen lying haphazardly out in the open. The evidence of the viciousness of the battle for Darrowshire was everywhere.

 

Standing near the well were a small group of people wearing the colors and tabards of the Argent Crusade along with a Night Elf in traveling clothes. They had been discussing something intently when they saw the portal open and stopped to see who was arriving.

 

“Shan’do!” Syloren called out upon seeing his teacher. “Thank you for coming! We didn’t know...”

 

And then, as Jeshua and Jim began to move towards their friend, they heard the delicate voice of a little girl, “Mister Jim? You came back!”

 

Jim’s eyes filled with tears again as he turned to see the translucent form of Pamela Redpath. She might have been a little under four feet tall. She had red hair tied up in pigtails and wore a light brown summer dress over a short sleeve frilled white blouse. Her small feet were bare.

 

The Priests who had come through backed away from the child, while those who had been Forsaken drew closer to hear what would be said. Looks of empathy for the little girl's ghost could be seen on their faces, but little else as they folded their hands and looked from her to the man they had followed here.

 

“Yeah, sweetie, I came back.” Jim said, kneeling down next to her.

 

“Did you bring the man who could help my daddy and me?” She asked him, her child’s eyes hopeful.

 

“Yes, I did.” Jim said, a tear running down his face. “Pamela, this is Jeshua.” He then told her, introducing him to her.

 

“Hello, Pamela,” Jeshua said, kneeling down. His own eyes began to tear up when he saw her.

 

“Can you really make us better, Mister Jeshua?” She asked him. “I feel so cold all the time.”

 

“Do you believe I can?” Jeshua asked her, reaching out to stroke her ghostly face with his hand.

 

“Well, Mister Jim thought you could, and he’s a really nice man, so I think you can too. I trust Mister Jim, so I trust you too.” Pamela told him.

 

Tears began falling freely down Jeshua’s bearded cheeks as she told him that.

 

“This is ridiculous! That girl has been dead for thirty years!” One of the Priests then shouted at him. “That’s not even her, just some after image!”

 

Jeshua ignored him, but when the little girl then looked confused after what the Priest had said, he told her, “Pay him no mind, little one. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Sadly, he never did.”

 

“Okay, Mister Jeshua. If you say so.” She said, looking at him with a smile.

 

Jeshua then looked up into the sky and shouted so everyone present could hear, “Sire! I know you hear me because you have shone on all of these through me. Now, bring your light upon these people and let everyone here know, and let there be no more doubt that you sent me and love these people!”

 

At this, the misty orange clouds in the sky above parted, and pure, holy Light burst upon the town, flooding it so that there were no shadows left.

 

And then Jeshua shouted, “People of Darrowshire! Rise!”

 

Suddenly, the ground beneath them began to burst open in several places around the town. Cracks large and small formed around them. In the distance from where they were, flashes of light could be seen coming from the town’s cemetary. Around them, pieces of dried, dessecated bones flew across town to reform into humanoid forms.

 

“I feel… I feel...” Pamela began to say as her translucent form disappeared from in front of them.

 

Flesh, muscle, and blood took shape from nothing and formed around what had been skeletal remains. Living human hands began climbing out of the cracks which had formed in the ground followed by their owners who were very much alive and breathing.

 

Awestruck would not have conveyed what those witnessing it were feeling as the town’s people rose from the dust and ashes whole, and healthy, and alive. Men and women, older as well as younger, and small children found themselves once more in the town where they had lived. In all, maybe three hundred people came to stand not far from the well where Jeshua had first met Pamela.

 

And then the radiant light faded once more. When it was all done, all the townspeople had expressions of confusion, shock, and even amazement at what they were seeing.

 

The Priests who had spoken out against Jeshua stood there dumbfounded. They couldn’t reconcile their beliefs with what they had just witnessed. “What kind of necromancy is this?” They asked each other, refusing to believe their own eyes. They were certain that it was the result of dark and unholy magic. What else could it be?

 

In front of them, one of the men wearing the Argent Crusade’s tabard, the commander of Crown Guard tower, a balding, middle aged man with a thick mustache, looked around him in utter bewilderment. “What just happened here?” He asked slowly and deliberately trying to process what he was seeing.

 

“Carlin? Is that you?” The commander heard a voice call out. It was one he had not heard in thirty years.

 

“Joseph?” Carlin Redpath turned his head to see his brother’s face just as he had last seen it during the battle which had decimated the town. “Is that really you?”

 

A man with similar features to his own, but appearing much younger walked up to him. He had dark red hair and goatee and was wearing the clothes and brown leather vest he had the day Carlin watched him fall in battle.

 

“You look like an old man, Carlin, what happened?” Joseph asked him. “Where’s Pamela?”

 

Carlin then grabbed his brother and held on tight, nearly squeezing the life out of him that had just been given. The older man cried as he held his brother. “I...” He didn’t know how to answer him.

 

“Daddy?!” He heard a little girl’s voice call out from the direction of where his home had been. He would know his Pamela’s voice anywhere.

 

“Pamela?!” He let go of his brother and gazed in the direction of what had been their home.

 

“Daddy!” The little girl shouted back, doll in hand, and she ran in her bare feet across the town's dirt paths to her father’s waiting arms. When she ran into him he scooped her up high into the air and then drew her back into a fierce embrace, kissing the top of her head.

 

Jeshua looked over the whole scene silently. Tears continuing to stream down his own face at the sight of all the reunions taking place. All of them far too long overdue. Jim stood next to him watching as well. He then put his hand on Jeshua’s shoulder and said as they both watched, “Thanks for this, Captain. I mean thanks for all of this. I never would have gotten to be a part if I hadn’t met you.”

 

“And I too, Shan’do.” Syloren added. “I have seen miracles beyond my wildest imagination.”

 

“Continue in the Light’s path, my friends.” Jeshua told them both, “And you will see more than this.”

 

It was then that the little girl they had first met came up to them both. “I remember you.” She said. “I remember you both, Mister Jeshua and Mister Jim. And I think you were Mister Sy… Syl...”

 

“Syloren.” The Night Elf told her.

 

“Yeah, that was it. You did this, didn’t you? You gave my daddy back to me.” She asked them.

 

“This was the Light’s will for you, Pamela.” Jeshua replied, kneeling down to face her eye to eye. “The Light doesn’t want anyone to be destroyed, but for everyone to come into its embrace.”

 

“Thank you, Mister Jeshua.” Pamela told him. She then kissed his bearded cheek and threw her arms around him for a big hug, which he returned in a paternal embrace. Then backing away she said shyly with a slight curtsy, “Well, good bye!” and then ran back to her father.

 

At a distance from there, the Mage who had brought them there appeared to be searching for someone intently among the crowd. His eyes looked intently, a hope in them as he scanned the mass of people.

 

“Philip?” He then heard a young woman’s voice call out. He knew the voice very well.

 

He spun his whole body around to see a woman of no more than twenty three. Her long, platinum blond hair was braided back and tied with a blue ribbon bow. Her blue eyes sparkled as she looked at him.

 

“Alicia?” He asked, his eyes watering. “I had thought… I didn’t dare hope… I...” The Mage responded, not knowing what to say.

 

“Philip what has happened?” She asked him. “I remember there was a battle, and the Scourge came, and we were all so scared. You went out to fight them. Why are your robes like that? What happened to the town?”

 

But Philip couldn’t answer. All he could do was grab his young wife into his arms, and kiss her more passionately than he ever had. “I’ve missed you so much!” Was all he could say. “I’m never going to leave you again! I swear it!” Rivulets of salt water streamed down his face as he held his wife once more.

 

Briefly he stole a glance at Jeshua and by some chance the young human man saw him as well. “Thank you.” He managed to mouth at him.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

 

In the Ruins of Lordaeron around the same time…

 

Sylvanas didn’t usually walk the old buildings on the surface. They held little use for either herself or her people and had been painful reminders of a lost past. Few of the Forsaken people chose to remain in the ruins of the old city, preferring instead the darkness of the sewers beneath which had become what everyone now referred to simple as “The Undercity,” a home and settlement tailored for the needs of the undead far away and secured from the involvement or interference from the living.

 

The crumbling structures of the original Keep and the dome of the Cathedral that night were illuminated only by starlight and a sliver of all that was left of the White Lady that month. As she walked, she passed by several of her people that had chosen to remain above ground.

 

Except these days, she saw a number of living faces making the ruins their home as much as the dead ones she was used to. This was in fact the reason why she was touring the ruins at all. Those living humans that had returned from Hearthglen or, now, from wherever Jeshua’s “emissaries” happened to be at the moment had requested permission from her to restore some of the original structures, the houses in particular, to accommodate the needs that living flesh required. There were more of these “living Forsaken” being added to her city’s population every day. It was still something of a shock to her, though she would not show it, when living flesh knelt to her in respect or saluted her as she passed. But they did. She acknowledged their respect with a nod as was proper for a queen.

 

And respect her they did, as much as they had after she had freed them from the Lich King, and many of those living humans had expressed gratitude to her for the opportunity she had allowed them. It was all truly surreal, but a result she could not be angry with Jeshua or his emissaries about. Those humans that had returned never flinched at their undead brothers and sisters either. They worked side by side with them without so much as shivering.

 

This frustrated her even more. She wanted to be angry at the human healer. She wanted to be angry at him for taking more of her army away… except he hadn’t. She wanted to be angry at him for preaching forgiveness and putting such ideas in her people’s heads when she had been trying to foster a war which would destroy their enemies and add human bodies to their stockpile as new Forsaken… except that was no longer necessary for her people because of Jeshua. Those who had returned from him were perfectly healthy and perfectly capable of producing offspring and children. New humans under her rule. It solved the problem which they had been trying to solve from the beginning.

 

And this was why she most wanted to be angry at Jeshua: because of the argument she had with Nathanos. Their feelings for each other had been buried mostly before the Scourge war but they had been there, and they had been strong, so strong that they had outlasted even death itself. She had gone to great trouble to recover and restore her champion, and though their relationship could never be what either had hoped for, nevertheless it persisted in spite of death. He carried out her will, she could tell him anything, they were often of one mind when they acted in their people’s interests. As undead, neither of them could have the life the might have wanted at the time, but the undeath they now possessed was powerful and they were within reach of their goal of taking their vengeance on the southern kingdoms.

 

And then Jeshua came and offered all of them a release and a cure from undeath into a new life. The man had said it several times to her. “All of you.” And she knew within herself what he meant and what he wanted for her and for Nathanos.

 

Nathanos had known it too, and he had effectively given her an ultimatum. Her war, and possibly her position as warchief, or a new life lived with him. She wanted to be angry at Nathanos as much as she wanted to be angry at Jeshua. Didn’t he understand that this was what she wanted too? How dare he present her, his queen, with such an ultimatum? Didn’t he understand that it could ruin everything for their people?

 

But she was having difficulty being angry at him because she knew he _did_ understand. He was the only one truly privy to her private counsel. He was the only one who truly knew her mind. And in spite of this, he still wanted her to throw it all away—for him.

 

She continued to walk the grounds of the ruins. The houses which were being rebuilt had been fine. They were small, but serviceable and would likely grow as the living population of the city grew. And it would grow. That much was certain.

 

She turned into a darkened, crumbling opening in a building into corridor that she knew would lead back to the throne room in the keep and the crypts beyond which were the entrance into her proper domain, the city of the undead. Her mind was going over and over these things so much though she hadn’t thought as much about which hallway she was walking down.

 

The light was even dimmer in the hallway than it was in the night outside, but that did not matter to her undead eyes. She could see the stones and the cracks in them, she could see the molding banners and decaying artwork just fine as she passed by them.

 

But one caught her eye and she stopped in front of it. Upon seeing it, her anger flared again, especially at the sight of the young human prince next to the rest of his family. The painting was an old portrait of the Menethils, the last royal family of the kingdom of Lordaeron, that no one had bothered to remove or destroy. The young man in the picture couldn’t have been any older than fourteen or fifteen. But the sight of his face still filled her with a rage that she no longer had a proper outlet for. Arthas Menethil was dead. Destroyed by Tirion Fordring and other champions at the Lich King’s throne. She had always resented the Paladin for this. She had wanted to be the one to end the bastard once and for all. She had wanted to prolong his suffering for eternity if she could, and that had been denied her.

 

Her gaze then shifted to the other members of the “happy family.” All of them had either handsome or pretty, almost Quel’dorei like features, as much as any human could have. They all had the strawberry hair and green eyes that were common to their family. The features of the girl, Calia in particular…

 

She looked more intently at Calia’s features. She had heard that the woman was still alive and living the life of an ascetic at the priestly Conclave’s Netherlight Temple. So be it. She had held no personal quarrel with the woman, only her brother. But the younger, teenaged features of this woman suddenly reminded her of someone… someone she had seen recently.

 

And then it struck her. _Could it be possible?_ But the more she stared at the painting, the more convinced she became as she matched the human preacher’s features point for point with those royals that had been enshrined in the work of art. Sylvanas had never been slow witted, and the sharpness of her memory hadn’t dulled even in undeath.

 

She didn’t know how, but this Jeshua Lightborn was a Menethil.

 

Her mind then began working fast again. If he was a Menethil, then he could possibly have a legitimate claim to the throne of Lordaeron. Not one she or the Horde would recognize, of course, but Stormwind might. And if enough of her people became human, they might start making the connection as well and possibly advocating it.

 

The gears in her mind spun furiously as she attempted to look at it from all angles. Yes, he was a Menethil, he had to be somehow, but he claimed nothing for himself and went about in pauper’s rags. But all that could be a ruse, a cleverly crafted plan to seize power from her and restore the former kingdom to Alliance hands.

 

And yet he almost encouraged her people’s obedience and fealty to her.

 

“What is it you really want, Jeshua Lightborn?” She asked aloud, her face a pensive mask.

 

* * *

 

In Stormwind several days later…

 

“High Priestess, he is teaching heresy and practicing the dark arts of necromancy!” The balding high cleric told Laurena in a side chamber of the Cathedral of Light in the human capital.

 

Elected to replace Bishop Farthing after the older man retired two years ago, Bishop Marcus had been known as a cautious, conservative man, fiercely devoted to the Holy Light and to the Alliance. He had also been known to be somewhat sympathetic to the more extreme ideas of the Scarlet Crusade.

 

The chamber was lit only by candles, and the lighting within was subdued and somewhat melancholy as the Priests and Bishop who had been sent after the Draenei Prophet Velen’s own interview with Jeshua had returned aghast and horrified at what they had seen and heard. After the Brothers had left, Bishop Marcus had remained behind.

 

“That is difficult to believe, Marcus.” Laurena told him. “I believe Velen to be a good judge of character, and his experience with the Light far exceeds our own by millennia.”

 

“How else could what he did in Darrowshire be explained?” Bishop Marcus asked her. “I saw with my own eyes people that had been dead for decades crawling out of the ground alive. That is not possible, no one has a command of the Light that strong. The Holy Light itself cannot restore a soul to the body past six minutes. This is a well established fact proven again and again, and it cannot regrow whole body parts or create flesh and blood out of nothing. Every Priest in the Conclave knows this, regardless of denomination. This could not be a work of anything holy or pure, High Priestess. We know there are many illusions that are capable with the Arcane magic the Mages practice. And he allowed himself to be called the Light itself. The man is a dangerous delusional lunatic who preaches that we should forgive those monsters in the north and learn to love them!”

 

“I can’t explain it.” Laurena conceded. “And were he to be one of the Priests of our order I would be having a very serious discussion with him right now, but he is not. He has never taken the vows or been consecrated to the Light as we have. He is acting on his own authority and, for better or for worse, is beyond the reach of ours.” She told him. “I do not have any control over those outside of our order, and especially not those as far north as the Plaguelands. There is nothing I or any of us can do.”

 

“Will you at least address the Conclave about him? Perhaps the Conclave can bring his falsehoods to an end.” Marcus pressed her.

 

“Who would I address? The Prophet Velen is the most senior member of the Conclave, and he is quite taken with the man. Bishop Faol is one of those ‘monsters from the north’ that you described and would likely benefit from the cure this man offers if he hasn’t done so already. Both have the ear of the High Priest of the Conclave far more than I do, and I have serious doubts your concerns would find a friendly ear with either of them.” Laurena pointed out.

 

Frustrated, Marcus didn’t know what else to say. If the high priestess of his own order would not do anything, who else would? The man Jeshua was a clear and present danger to the Church’s established teachings.

 

He left the side chamber of the Cathedral to pray in the main sanctuary. Certainly the Light would give him guidance as to how to proceed. He felt so strongly that this man would bring destruction and ruin on everything he held dear, but who would listen?

 

As he came to stand in front of the altar, he noticed a Brother off to the side standing just behind a support column. It was one of the few Gilnean Priests who had taken refuge here in the Cathedral in Stormwind many years before. And then he noticed the Brother motioning for him to come closer.

 

“May I help you, Brother?” Marcus asked as he approached the Gilnean. He still did not know the names of all of the Priests that passed through the Cathedral.

 

“I couldn’t help but overhear the concerns you shared with the High Priestess, your grace.” The Priest told him.

 

“That loud was I?” Marcus replied. “Well, they are justified I assure you.”

 

The Gilnean man answered, “I believe you. There have been a number of stories filtering down from the north that are of great concern to many of us, Lord Greymane in particular. I think he would very much like to meet with you and learn what you know about this man.”

 

“Lord Greymane? I didn’t think he was a particularly religious man. What interest could he have in this?” Marcus questioned.

 

“He takes a great interest where the Forsaken are concerned, your grace. As you know, their queen killed his son, and they overran our own kingdom. I think you would find a sympathetic ear with him, and perhaps the resources to do something about it.” The Gilnean Priest replied.

 

Marcus debated with himself for over a minute. He didn’t like the idea of going around his superior. There were his vows of obedience to consider. But she had not ordered him to do nothing, she only said that she could do nothing. And this man Jeshua was a clear threat. The Gilneans had their own monstrous side to them, but then perhaps monsters could only be fought by monsters.

 

“Tell Lord Greymane, I will meet with him.” He finally decided.

 

The Gilnean Priest gave a slight bow in acknowledgment before departing the Cathedral quickly.

 

* * *

 

At Light’s Hope Chapel in the Eastern Plaguelands two days later…

 

Lord Maxwell Tyrosus’ gryphon landed not hard in front of the gryphon master’s nests that afternoon. The sun overhead was, as always, obscured by the orangish red haze that permeated the afflicted region. The Paladin encampment was busy as he landed, with several supply wagons being loaded and checked near the fortified gates in the surrounding walls as he landed.

 

The older, one eyed Paladin had no need to travel with a retinue, and gryphon back suited him far better than traveling by Mage’s portal. He patted the neck of the golden colored, eagle headed beast in between the sapphire colored armor plating, and stroked its feathers before he dismounted. It had been a long flight from Hearthglen, he having left earlier in the morning, and his animal had done well.

 

“Take good care of him.” He told the gryphon master. “Make sure he doesn’t eat too much. He gets a bad stomach if it's too full before he flies again.”

 

“Yes, my lord.” The gryphon master had responded.

 

That particular gryphon and he had seen a lot of action together during the Legion war, and it had been one of the few friends that had stayed with him after it was over. He patted the gryphon’s neck one more time before leaving him in the care of the gryphon master. He then made his way across the grassy hill to the rather unassuming simple white chapel building for which the Paladin stronghold was named.

 

He had traveled from Hearthglen after receiving word from Light’s Hope about the occurrence in Darrowshire a few days before. To say that the Highlord of the Silver Hand had expressed concerns as had the other Paladin leaders would have been putting it mildly.

 

He himself had only learned of it through the report of the Argent Crusade commander of Crown Guard Tower, Carlin Redpath the day before. When he had read the initial report of the incident in Darrowshire, he had a hard time believing it, but dispatched more Argent Crusade knights to Darrowshire to investigate. When they confirmed the report, he also dispatched supply wagons of food, clothing, and whatever else three hundred people in a ruined town might need. That had been the Paladins’ mandate in the Plaguelands to begin with. They had come to heal and help the afflicted people there as well as combat the Scourge forces that still remained.

 

Where Jeshua was concerned, he had been told by recruits that had been present at one of the outdoor teaching sessions that Darrowshire had been mentioned and that the young preacher and several others had stepped through a Mage’s portal only to return hours later by the same way. Most of the problems Tyrosus had encountered while hosting the young man had been logistical. Otherwise, the old Paladin felt that he shared a number of Jeshua’s views on most things, though Tyrosus might have been more pragmatic when it came to dealing with those trying to kill you. He had no problem with trying to make peace and curing the people. Even keeping the Horde leadership on good terms only helped the Argent Crusade’s cause in the Plaguelands, and he was certain that Tirion would have agreed with him.

 

He entered the chapel, saluting the Argent Crusade guards that stood watch nearby. The interior of the unassuming building was spartan and stripped. What pews and altar there might have been at one time had been remove elsewhere. Only a few people stood in the sanctuary, and these only briefly.

 

The Paladin lord acknowledged them with a salute, which they returned, and then walked towards the center of the open room and knelt down. He stretched out his hand and placed it palm down on the wooden floor, saying a brief prayer to the Holy Light as he did. A flash of light passed between his hand and the floor boards, and then they slid away in front of him to reveal a set of stairs.

 

The great secret of Light’s Hope Chapel that only the members of their Order and a select few others knew, was that the surface building was merely a facade. The old church structure had been left standing after the third war and it had become a beacon for those survivors to rally around, but the church itself stood over a far more sacred and important site.

 

The Sanctum of Light.

 

Initially conceived of as a memorial by their brothers for those thousands of Paladins that had fallen during the war with the Scourge to protect their bodies from being desecrated and reused by the Lich King, the Sanctum had grown into the primary Cathedral and headquarters for the Knights of the Silver Hand. Here, surrounded by the consecrated tombs of their brothers, Paladins from all over Azeroth could come and set politics aside and worship the Holy Light together and work together to fulfill their purpose of bringing justice and healing to those who needed it. Here, there was neither Horde nor Alliance, but only brothers and sisters in the Light one to another.

 

It was Tirion Fordring’s dream realized and brought to life, carried on by the current Highlord who had risen in the ranks during the Legion war, and whom Tirion had named as his successor and the next wielder of the Ashbringer. The sword itself had been drained of its power years ago along with other sacred artifacts to help seal the wound which had been inflicted on Azeroth when the fallen Titan Sargeras, in one last injury to their mother world, had stabbed his sword deep into the sands of the province of Silithus in Kalimdor. The Ashbringer's remains now lay across Tirion Fordring’s tomb deep within the Cathedral, itself finally buried along with the rest of the Light’s champions.

 

Tyrosus descended the flights of stairs again and again. This sanctuary had been violated only once before, and then it had been the Light itself which had defended it. The Knights of the Ebon Blade, a mirror order of renegade Death Knights had, inexplicably, attempted to break into the sanctuary and steal Highlord Fordring’s body, though for what purpose none of the Paladins had ever been able to determine. It had been a sad and frustrating day, as they had lost several good brother Paladins in the invasion, and the Death Knights had previously been allied with the Argent Crusade. The Ebon Blade would however never be trusted by them again.

 

He reached the bottom landing and strode into the sacred underground stronghold. Directly ahead of him down a long hallway was the main Cathedral where Paladin devotees could be found day or night in contemplation and personal worship of the Light. It would have been his preference, given all that had happened, for him to have continued walking that he might have stolen away privately into a pew and spent time himself in this fashion after all that had occurred. However, he had other matters to attend to at the moment.

 

Instead, he turned right into a long alcove that had served as the Silver Hand’s council chamber and war room during the Legion war. At a long wooden table, the leadership of the Silver Hand had already been there for some time as he saw the Highlord himself sitting at the head of the table. Around the long table also could be seen Lady Liadrin, the Sindorei Matriarch of the Blood Knights; the Draenei Vindicator Boros of the Exodar; Aponi Brightmane, the chieftain of the Tauren Sunwalkers; Delas Moonfang, the first Night Elf Paladin; the Dwarven Paladin, Valgar Highforge of Ironforge, and others. This was no mean gathering. The entire Order of the Silver Hand worldwide had representatives around the table this day.

 

“Thank you for joining us, Lord Tyrosus.” The Highlord stood and greeted him, gesturing to a seat opposite him at the end of the table.

 

“It is my honor.” Lord Tyrosus replied as he joined his comrades.

 

He knew everyone at the table on a familiar basis. They had all fought together and shed blood together against the Burning Legion both in the Broken Isles here on Azeroth and later taking the fight to the Legion’s own homeworld on Argus itself, as well as invading through portals to fight the Legion on other occupied worlds. He knew Vindicator Boros was a good man with a tendency to snore. He knew Lady Liadrin enjoyed a good romance novel, and was as quick with her wit as with her sword. The Highlord and he had fought back to back against demonic terrors that would give most people nightmares. In spite of their differences, they had become a kind of extended family to each other during the war.

 

“You have read the summons, I assume?” The Highlord asked.

 

“Of course. I was informed of the incident myself by Commander Redpath. His brother and niece were among those revived.” Tyrosus responded. “I sent out riders to investigate, and when I learned it was true, immediately dispatched supply wagons to the town. More are being readied above us as we speak.”

 

“It isna’ the supplies o’ the people tha’ concern us, Max, of course we want them well and good. It’s how it happened.” Valgar spoke up, addressing him.

 

“Reports and rumors of this man Jeshua’s abilities and practices have spread throughout the entire world.” Aponi Brightmane picked up where the Dwarf left off. “Even in Thunder Bluff we have heard of his ability to cure the Forsaken. Long time Forsaken guests of our people have suddenly begun leaving the city by zeppelin in droves in order to return to Tirisfal Glades looking for his cure. A rumor came to us that he transformed an entire town of undead at once. Is this true?”

 

Lord Tyrosus nodded his head. “It is true, Aponi. They came to us in Hearthglen weeks ago and stayed until their queen gave them permission to return home to Tarren Mill. Since then, we’ve had a large number of the Forsaken come into Hearthglen seeking ‘treatment’. Most return home within a day. Some have stayed to learn more of Jeshua’s teaching.”

 

“I have seen these people myself when visiting the Undercity recently.” Lady Liadrin said. “Humans living and working alongside the undead. They all claim to have been cured by this ‘Jeshua.’”

 

“My people worked along the Forsaken alchemists for decades to find a cure for their condition. Much discussion was held among the shamans and druids before our order came to be, and then the Sunwalkers were brought in on the discussions. Every avenue that we knew of collectively had been exhausted. It was simply found to not be possible.” Aponi continued.

 

“Much less what’s happened with the Illidari.” Delas Moonfang said.

 

Vindicator Boros then spoke up, “What was described as having happened in Darrowshire in particular...” He trailed off, having no words to finish his sentence.

 

“Our question then is how this man is doing all of these seemingly impossible feats?” The Highlord asked. “From every report, he appears to be in command of the Holy Light, but from our own experience none of these things are possible even for the most powerful of us. What is your opinion of this man, Jeshua?”

 

Lord Tyrosus took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “When I first met him, I wasn’t so sure about him myself. But I can’t argue with what I’ve seen. I know the Light when I see it, and this man, whoever he is and wherever he came from, has the strongest connection to the Light that I have ever seen in a mortal being. It’s almost as if he and the Holy Light share the same mind, though whether that’s possible is somewhat beyond me. I honestly don’t know how he’s doing these things. But that his intentions are honorable and the healings he and his apprentices perform are real is beyond question in my mind.”

 

“He and his apprentices? We have only heard of the one man.” The Highlord asked, surprised.

 

“Yes, there are eight of them. A ragtag bunch if I ever saw one. But somehow he passed this ability he has on to them. He sent them out to the rest of the afflicted areas a while back to bring this cure to those who couldn’t make the journey to Hearthglen. As I understand it from Commander Redpath, it was a couple of these followers of his who called for him to go to Darrowshire to begin with. As for what he did there… I have no idea how he accomplished it. All I know is that we now have three hundred living souls, including children, to help in rebuilding their town.” He told them.

 

“There are rumors that dark magic and necromancy was involved.” Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker then spoke up. He was a Paladin lord from Stormwind, and had direct oversight over the training and formation of them there. Lord Tyrosus had not fought alongside him during the Legion war, and didn’t know the man quite as well. The middle aged man could have been a mirror image of himself, right down to the eye patch he wore.

 

“From Jeshua?” Lord Tyrosus almost laughed. “Not a chance. That man doesn’t have one iota of Shadow in his entire body. He won’t even lift a dagger to defend himself against attack. You could just as soon accuse any one of us of the dark arts.”

 

“How else then does a man do a mass resurrection of an entire town that has been dead on the ground for thirty years?” Shadowbreaker responded. “Their souls had long since gone on to the Light.”

 

“Not according to Commander Redpath. Most of them had been trapped there in that town after the battle that killed them. The little girl, his niece Pamela, for example. He said she’s been wandering the ruins for years asking travelers to find her doll for her. She always seemed to misplace it. I don’t know how their bodies were restored, but their souls were still right there waiting.”

 

The Highlord and the others appeared to be considering this information carefully. Lord Shadowbreaker however appeared unconvinced.

 

“Bishop Marcus watched the whole event, Lord Tyrosus. He came away swearing by the Light that it was not what it appeared. I must tell you he has the ear of Lord Greymane, and Lord Greymane has the ear of King Wrynn.” The Stormwind Paladin told him, his voice ominous.

 

“And what does that mean, Lord Shadowbreaker?”

 

“Lord Greymane, under advisement of Bishop Marcus, has begun advocating for the purging of Darrowshire of all those raised there, and cleansing the town of all dark magic used with Holy Fire.” Lord Shadowbreaker told all those present.

 

“You can’t be serious.” Tyrosus told him, alarm in his voice. “There are hundreds of innocent people, children even among them.”

 

“According to what Bishop Marcus believes, these must all be just an arcane illusion glossing over the undead horrors which must have been raised. He also uses this explanation to account for the transformation seen among the Forsaken. Your Jeshua, as he explains it, is nothing more than a con man with a talent for glamour spells.” Lord Shadowbreaker told him. “He is working with the Horde setting the stage for a massive infiltration of Alliance forces.”

 

“And that is nonsense!” Tyrosus shot back in outrage. “I have seen the results of his work with my own eyes, and I’d think after the horrors we have all witnessed I’d be able to spot a fake by now.”

 

Tyrosus looked to the other Paladin lords. Looks of shock and outrage appeared across their faces at Shadowbreaker’s words.

 

“That is absurd!” Lady Liadrin’s voice raised so that it could be heard across the Sanctum.

 

“Monstrous. Evil. Pure evil.” Aponi Brightmane remarked, her eyes filled with indignation as they looked at the human Paladin.”

 

“I have been tasked with requesting assistance from this Order to carry out the purging.” Shadowbreaker finally managed to say, beginning to realize that his words would not carry the weight that those who sent him had imagined.

 

“Absolutely not!” Tyrosus shouted, pounding his fist on the table. “The Plaguelands are under the jurisdiction of the Argent Crusade. Stormwind will not set so much as one foot of one soldier here, am I clear, _my lord?”_

 

“What does King Wrynn say about this?” The Highlord then asked, stroking his graying beard thoughtfully.

 

“Highlord, the King values the advice of Lord Greymane highly, as well as that of the Bishops of the Cathedral.” Shadowbreaker responded.

 

“I cannot believe Anduin would agree to such measures as this.” Boros said, his voice grave.

 

“Neither can I.” Remarked Valgar. “The boy’s got too good a heart for that.”

 

“Would you all set yourselves against Stormwind’s army and the Alliance if it came down to it?” Lord Shadowbreaker asked. “You yourself, Lord Tyrosus are an Alliance citizen and as such...”

 

“Stormwind be damned!” Tyrosus shouted, not believing what he was hearing. “I was a citizen of _Lordaeron_ before it fell, not Stormwind! Let me make this perfectly clear. I will not permit or participate in such an atrocity as you are proposing. I do not answer to Stormwind. I do not answer to Lord Greymane, and I sure as hell don’t answer to you, Lord Shadowbreaker. If Greymane seeks to murder innocent people who have just been given their lives back, then he will have to go through the Argent Crusade to do it.”

 

“And the Blood Knights.” Lady Liadrin added.

 

“The Sunwalkers will stand with you.” Aponi Brightmane said.

 

“As will all the Knights of the Silver Hand.” The Highlord finally ruled, his tone definite. “We don’t take innocent lives. Even those of the undead Forsaken we do not arbitrarily kill just because of what they are. This is what set us apart from the Scarlet Crusade to begin with. This is what defines us now. We serve the Justice and Mercy of the Holy Light, not Greymane’s personal fears or vendettas.”

 

Lord Shadowbreaker looked chastised, but accepted it. “I will bring your answer to Stormwind, Highlord. I just hope it is the right one.”

 

After that, Lord Shadowbreaker, feeling there was nothing more for him to say arose from his seat, and left the gathering.

 

“That did not go well.” Boros observed. “And I fear for what it bodes for the future. Our order needs our unity now more than ever.”

 

“Agreed.” The Highlord responded. Then to Lord Tyrosus he said, “Fraud or not, this Jeshua is turning our world on its ear.”

 

“It would seem that way.” Tyrosus responded. “But I truly don’t believe he means harm.”

 

“Perhaps not.” Lady Liadrin replied. “As you all know, the Forsaken have long been our people’s allies, their own queen having been Sindorei. I know for certain that it is more than likely that our people would stand by them should Stormwind attempt this kind of ‘purge’. It is a needless, foolish gamble Greymane is considering. Everyone knows his true vendetta is against Sylvanas Windrunner herself for the murder of his son. Any excuse he can use to trouble her or bring about her destruction he will use. I do not believe he is above plunging us into yet another war to accomplish this.”

 

“Agreed.” Tyrosus told her.

 

She continued, “This Jeshua however, whether he means to or not, is giving him just such an excuse that might rouse the wrong people to do foolish things. Relations between the Alliance and the Horde are a powder keg as it is right now. It will not take much of a spark for them to explode into a world wide war.”

 

“What are you suggesting then, Lady?” Tyrosus asked.

 

“We may need to discuss removing him from the equation for a time.” She replied. “Perhaps sending him elsewhere until things settle down and everyone adjusts to the new order of things; the Broken Isles, Pandaria, or even Northrend for a time, for his own protection at least. Better that than the alternatives.”

 

“I can speak with him about it.” Tyrosus responded as he considered what she said.

 

“We must proceed with an abundance of caution, or Azeroth may find itself awash in blood once more.” The Highlord added.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

 

In Hearthglen not long afterwards…

 

The undead man stood outside the two story house listening to what was happening inside that night. The black leather and mail he wore was somehow silent. His bow and quiver of arrows was secured tightly to his frame. He had not come looking for a fight, but they had become as much a part of his identity as much as any other member of his body.

 

The house was unusual in that it appeared in the night's darkness to mildly glow with a light of its own from the very walls. Light from candles and oil lamps burning in the downstairs sitting room of the house filtered through the curtained glass windows and he could see quite clearly the movements of several people, talking, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. There were nine living people in the house his hunter’s senses told him.

 

There was no moon, though that did not matter to his eyes in which burned an unnatural reddish light. The darkness held no secrets or terrors from his eyes which saw through it as though it were day. The stars in the night sky overhead filled the heavens unobstructed by the presence of the moon which dominated them when it rose in the sky as their queen. The White Lady could be truly beautiful when she was full in the sky, but she also had the habit of drowning out the light from countless deserving others when she took the stage.

 

 _Much like the Dark Lady_ , Nathanos mused. _But perhaps that is the way of great women._

 

Some might have thought it strange that, after so long, he could still appreciate things like beauty in both nature and women. His own internal, natural drives had ceased when his original body had died, and they had not restarted after the measures Sylvanas took to make his undead body like her own. But whether he physically desired a woman or not, he could still appreciate the curves of her body, or flawless skin, or… Those were works of art to be appreciated even if they could never be put to their natural use again.

 

But much had been lost when the plague had spread and killed him. Simple pleasures like enjoying a meal, or the warmth of a human touch. Simple emotions like real joy, contentment, peace, and love were gone only to be replaced by fear and anger, flight or fight as the case might be. Occasionally his soul might remember something of what they were like and he might get a hint of them, but it was not often, and it was rarely positive.

 

As he listened to the men inside—and there was a woman too he could hear—all of these thoughts went through his mind and what was left of his dead, unfeeling heart. Everything that he had lost, everything that he could have wanted, they had inside the house that night, and he was a mere stranger on the outside in the cold.

 

 _Why can’t Sylvanas see reason?_ He had asked himself that question over and over again.

 

In his living humanity, Nathanos had loved his Ranger General. He had been devoted to her both professionally and personally. He had given up his active position as a Ranger Lord of Silvermoon due to the politics which were being played against her because of him, having returned home to live in a self imposed exile. But there she had defied her people’s politics and prejudice in order to come to him. He had only wanted what was best for her, and she had decided what was best for her was him. Like Vereesa and Rhonin, or Alleria and Turalyon, they could have been happy, had a family even had Arthas Menethil not stolen their lives from them.

 

In undeath, he remained no less devoted to her. She had sought him out, even when he was still mindless under the Lich King’s control and freed him personally. She had brought him to the Undercity to serve at her side as her personal champion. She continued to trust him in undeath, and him alone, with her most intimate thoughts and plans, and he her. But it was not what either had wanted, and he knew it.

 

And now, with the coming of this man, Jeshua Lightborn, they had both been given the chance that had been taken from them.

 

 _Why can’t she see it? It is as clear as the starry night is tonight._ He couldn’t truly understand it, or what was holding her back.

 

He had wanted both of them to be there that night, to be cured by this man together. To start their lives over again together. She need not give up her “throne” or her position as warchief. She had to know that. The Forsaken were still devoted to her for all she had tried to do for them, and those who had been cured had not forgotten just because blood flowed in their veins again. He knew her undead heart better than anyone, and he knew she craved this restoration.

 

 _Why is she holding back?_ He had no answer.

 

In his own way, as much as he could in his undead state, he loved Sylvanas Windrunner still. He would march into the abyss of whatever hell she told him to. She had only to ask. But for her own good, he wanted _her_ to follow _him_ one more time. That she refused and told him to get out worried him. She had been forced to be impossibly strong since Arthas had taken her life, making choices that on the surface were horrific in order to secure a future for the rest of the Forsaken that had their lives and any hope for an afterlife stolen from them. It worried him that those choices, made in pain and anger, were destroying what little was left of the woman he had loved and who had loved him.

 

It was a great risk he was about to take. But more than just for himself, he was taking it for her sake, hoping that she would come to her senses and follow him in it. After it was over, she would know where to find him he was certain.

 

He had ridden to Hearthglen on the back of his own skeletal steed, the tattered remains of its hide showing traces of the beautiful black coat it once had, taken from the Undercity’s stables kept on the surface. The journey had taken him two days from the ruins of Lordaeron, but that was the point. He wanted time to think things through. Along the way, he had passed many of his people on the road, both undead and quite living. All made way for him in deference to the Banshee Queen’s Champion. None dared to question to where he was riding. More often than not, they would not want to know the details of the missions their mutual sovereign sent him on if they could.

 

The night patrols and guards of the Argent Crusade town had curiously neither stopped him, nor given him a second glance. Having met a patrol on the road, his hand had slowly but instinctively gone to his bow, but they did not react one bit. He had thought he might have had to slip past them and over Hearthglen’s wall, hiding in the shadows as he moved through the town. Instead, they merely acknowledged his presence and moved on as he withdrew his hand. One Orc guard upon seeing him even pointed in the direction of the house he now stood in front of, saying as he did so, “The teacher can be found over there.” It was certainly not the welcome he had expected.

 

He did not know how long he stood there, still trying to think it through, when the door opened in front of him, and light began to shine through it from within. What smells his undead nose could register were of a meal having just been eaten, some kind of savory stew and bread.

 

“Hello, my friend!” The human man who stood in the doorway and addressed him couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. He had strawberry blond hair and full beard and mustache. His eyes were sea green and his face was almost High Elf like. He wore a long dark gray and white robe, similar to what a Priest might, with small emblems of the Argent Crusade emblazoned across it.

 

“I’m looking for the man called Jeshua Lightborn.” Nathanos told him.

 

The human man smiled warmly at him and replied, “Then you’ve found him! Please, won’t you come in and join us?”

 

“Er....” Nathanos attempted to answer, unsure of himself, and remaining motionless. “I’m here to...”

 

But Jeshua appeared to not hear him. “Please, please, there is still some Westfall stew left as well as some bread. You must be tired from your journey, my friend.” He stepped out of the doorway and put his hand on the man’s shoulder to gently lead him into the light of the house.

 

“I...” Nathanos started to attempt again to explain why he had come, but Jeshua seemed intent on showing him hospitality the undead Ranger Lord would have thought frivolous and unnecessary, bringing him in and making him a part of their gathering first. He was brought to the table with eight others, a mix of humans, Night Elves, and one Draenei woman. A plate with a ceramic bowl of stew, a spoon, and some bread was placed in front of him by Jeshua himself.

 

“We were just celebrating everyone’s return from their travels.” Jeshua explained, speaking freely to him. “And discussing what our next steps were.”

 

Nathanos looked around at the faces of the others present. At least two of the humans present recognized him, he saw, for the uncertain looks on their own faces. They were mostly likely among the cured. The others, merely looked at him as though he were a guest Jeshua had been expecting. The whole experience was surreal to the undead Ranger Lord.

 

“Jeshua, I’ve come here to ask you...” Nathanos began.

 

“I know why you’ve come, Nathanos Marris.” Jeshua replied gently, using the surname of his birth. “I’ve been expecting you for some time.”

 

“You have?” Nathanos asked.

 

“I’m just sorry _she_ couldn’t come with you. Perhaps later then.” Jeshua told him, a spark of hope in his voice.

 

 _How did he know that?_ Nathanos wondered, surprised at the human man.

 

“I tried to make her see reason.” He told the man, realizing that those around him might have had little idea of to whom he was referring. Playing along with Jeshua’s tone he said, “I don’t know why she couldn’t get away.”

 

“It’s hard to make major changes after so long. You get used to things being a certain way, even if you desperately want them to be different.” Jeshua replied. “Perhaps I myself will have to speak with her about it.”

 

Nathanos’ dark eyebrows raised. _This is no ordinary man at all then._ To Jeshua he said aloud, “Perhaps.” He then asked him, “So what do we do in the meantime?”

 

Then Jeshua came to stand next to the seated undead man and looked into his red eyes. “Do you truly want me to do this for you?”

 

The unstated addition in Jeshua’s question that Nathanos picked up on was, _Do you really want this, knowing what it could mean for you_?

 

It had been the same question Nathanos had asked himself over and over again. _What if she doesn’t come for me this time? What if she doesn’t choose this? Could I live the rest of a natural life without her?_ It was a terrible question, and choice he faced. But would she do it herself if he didn’t? Was he willing to sacrifice the existing relationship he had for the one they both had wanted?

 

Then Jeshua spoke again, “If a seed doesn’t fall into the ground and die, it remains alone, but if it dies, it gives birth to dozens if not hundreds of others.”

 

“Seeds don’t always grow when you plant them.” Nathanos replied.

 

“No they don’t, but they won’t at all unless you do.” Jeshua answered.

 

 _It’s decision time._ Nathanos realized.

 

“Please, teacher, I want to breathe again.” Nathanos finally told him. “I want my heart to beat again.”

 

Jeshua smiled. “Then breathe.” He said as though addressing a dear friend, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder.

 

The house was suddenly filled with a burst of Light, and when it was over, Nathanos sharply inhaled, his lungs filling with air. He then felt a burst in his chest, a light beating. He took his gloves off and looked at his hands. The color had been returned to them.

 

He was alive, in every sense of the word.

 

“Please, eat, my friend.” Jeshua then told him motioning to the plate of food in front of him. “I suspect it has been some time since you have enjoyed a good meal.”

 

* * *

 

In Orgrimmar the next day…

 

The throne room of Grommash Hold in Orgrimmar felt cold to her that day. The Kor’kron guards, both Orcs and Tauren, who stood watch were visibly sweating in the heat of Durotar’s day, though to their credit they refused to allow it to affect their duty. They had replaced her own absent Deathguards that had kept watch over her while in Orgrimmar prior to her departure.

 

She had not needed to ask where the undead soldiers had gone. It was obvious to her.

 

That the throne room felt cold to Sylvanas Windrunner was no surprise to her. She felt little in the way of temperature change in the air unless it threatened to do damage to her corpse. Cold was how she felt since the day she had found her body and reinhabited it.

 

She looked to the right side of the throne to see empty space. Nathanos had not come with her as would have been his habit. Instead, she had been told that one of her stable masters had seen him mount his personal steed. Another man, one of the newly living among the undead in Tirisfal Glades, had see the Blightcaller riding east on the main highway towards the Plaguelands. Neither had dared to question him as to where he was going.

 

She hadn’t needed them to. She already knew.

 

And so it felt colder than normal in Grommash Hold to her even as the day was hotter than usual for those affected by the heat. But she was warchief of the Horde and had to be seen strong, competent, and in control by those she led.

 

“Warchief!” A deep, aged, Orcish voice called out to her as its owner strode into the hall. His spiked, red painted plate armor, decorated with the sigils of the Horde and a fanged skull at his waist for good measure could strike fear into the heart of the bravest warrior on the battlefield. A heavy, double bladed battle axe hung securely from his back.

 

Supreme Lord Varok Saurfang had fought and bled in every war fought since the first invasion of Azeroth by the original Horde led by Blackhand and Gul’dan. His head was hoary, and his face wrinkled with the years, personal tragedy, and conflicts he had taken part in, but his tusks and his wit were both still sharp. His axe hand was still strong enough to cleave large trees in two with a single stroke. The Orc was something of a legend among his people, almost as much as Thrall had been before assuming the mantle of World Shaman. It was he who had been chosen to represent his people here in Durotar after the previous leadership following Thrall had proved himself… unworthy.

 

Saurfang was not along either.

 

Accompanying him was a ten foot, brown hide, muscular Tauren male whom she knew to be Baine Bloodhoof, Chieftain of Thunder Bluff. Tall, winged totems adorned his back, and the feathered headdress of the high chieftain of his people adorned his head.

 

Following behind these two was a face that was very familiar to her, their last conversation not going to her liking at all. She had known this man for many, many decades past, him having been her lieutenant among the Farstriders once upon a time before Arthas unravelled their world. Lor’themar Theron was the Regent Lord of Silvermoon, held in high regard as a good and honorable man. In his own humility, he wore the title of Regent Lord because he refused the crown which he could have laid claim to after the loss of the last member of the royal family. Like herself, he did what he believed best for all of the Sin’dorei, even those who still allied themselves with the Alliance. He wore the crimson red heavy mail armor favored by the Blood Elves decorated with the sigils of his people. His long platinum white blond hair, seemingly untouched by his age as most of his people seemed, was tied up in his usual long wolf’s tail. The greatsword of the Sin’dorei hung across his back, kept sharp for use she knew. His left eye was covered in a crimson eyepatch. His one good eye studied her intently, his face impassive.

 

“Warchief, we would speak to you privately. These matters do not concern the Kor’kron or anyone else in the hall.” Saurfang told her.

 

“What matters?” Sylvanas asked from where she sat on the warchief’s throne.

 

Saurfang had been her staunchest obstacle in the efforts and machinations she had undertaken to foster a new conflict with the Alliance, one which would end in Stormwind’s total destruction and humiliation. The Orc had reminded her more than once of his position on both starting a war, and her position as warchief. In this very chamber, Vol’jin had named her warchief, but, if he believed it necessary, Saurfang could challenge and remove her just as well. Next to him in council, Baine Bloodhoof had joined his voice in resisting further hostilities.

 

“The matters regarding a certain human we have been informed of within your borders called ‘Jeshua’.” Baine answered her with typical Tauren directness.

 

Her own expression soured at the man’s name.

 

 _Damn._ The curse ran through her mind as she looked toward Lor’themar. She had been expecting it

at some point in time, but this was not the day she wished to discuss it.

 

With a bitter taste in her mouth, she called out everyone else in the hall, “Leave us!”

 

Guards, ambassadors, and what sycophants were brave enough to attempt to ingratiate themselves with the undead warchief all left the hall quickly as she rose from her throne to meet the other three Horde leaders eye to eye.

 

Jeshua was the last thing she wanted to discuss with anyone right now, least of all with these men.

 

“Lor’themar’s people have begun reporting humans within Tirisfal Glades, the Hillsbrad Foothills, and all over Lordaeron.” Saurfang told her, gesturing to the elven lord. “Humans living and working side by side with the Forsaken. My own troops passing through by zeppelin have reported the same thing.”

 

Lor’themar then asked, “What is happening among your people Sylvanas? I am getting report after report of some cure for the undeath being made available to the Forsaken by a man called ‘Jeshua Lightborn.’ There are humans now all over your borders and within the ruins of Lordaeron itself. There has even been the report by Lady Liadrin of an entire town of humans in the Plaguelands being resurrected from mere ashes by this man.”

 

That was news to her. She had heard nothing about it.

 

“Is this true?” Baine asked, concern written over his bovine features. “Is there a cure for your condition?” His own people had sought for decades to help in finding one to no avail.

 

The Tauren’s euphemism for the undeath did not escape her notice. Under other circumstances, it might have even been humorous. But at that moment, a familiar scowl darkened the warchief’s face. She didn’t appreciate being questioned about how she ruled her own people.

 

“How I govern the Forsaken is of no concern to any of you as long as they remain loyal to the Horde.” She replied icily.

 

“But is it true?” Baine pressed.

 

“Yes, it’s true.” Sylvanas confirmed.

 

“And this man has been curing your people, turning them human once more? How many? Dozens? Hundreds?” Saurfang asked, concern growing in his voice. “And you have done nothing about this to stop this man?”

 

“How many defections to the Alliance have you had?” Lor’themar added.

 

“Not one that my spies and Rangers have witnessed.” Sylvanas replied, irritated at the questions. “I gave my people free will upon freeing them from the Lich King and I’m not about to rescind it now. They are free to go to him or not go as they wish, and they have been free to return home as long as they continue to swear allegiance to me.” She then added, “As a result, we now have a ready supply of potential infiltrators to send south should they be needed.”

 

“Are you saying these humans have all chosen to remain under your rule?” Saurfang asked skeptically.

 

“Yes.” Sylvanas responded. “You do not understand the Forsaken or what the Alliance has done to us. You do not understand the depth of the betrayal which we felt. There is not a one of us who would consider running to Stormwind’s arms regardless of any cure.”

 

“Clearly.” Saurfang answered, his tone still skeptical.

 

Lor’themar however nodded as he put his hand to his chin, thinking. His own people had experienced something similar after the third war saw nine tenths of his people decimated by the Scourge and the plague. Over half of Quel’Thalas still bore the scars and infestation of death that they had brought. The Alliance had done nothing to help them either.

 

It was Baine’s question however which had surprised her the most. “Warchief, if there is a cure, why then have you not availed yourself of it as your people have?”

 

She looked at him with daggers in her red glowing eyes, but in truth she had not expected any of these men to even question it. She had thought the answer would have been obvious.

 

“Yes, that would be my question too.” Lor’themar said. “This cure would solve many problems.”

 

Saurfang looked at both of his companions curiously, and then looked down at the ground in thought. “I agree,” he finally said, raising his head. “It would solve many points of friction between the Forsaken and other members of the Horde if they saw that your people also held living, beating hearts within them. Trust would be easier to build if they believed the Forsaken were not just viewing their bodies as raw materials. And I know my own people would certainly trust you more, and be more willing to follow you if they knew warm blood flowed through your veins. It may also eventually open a bridge to more diplomacy with the Alliance to avert further conflicts.”

 

“I… I am warchief of the Horde, and queen of the Forsaken. What I do, I do for my people. I will decide what is best for them, and for myself.” She responded, her face scowling, but her voice less passionate than she had intended. She had not expected these arguments _in favor of_ her own cure.

 

“Sylvanas,” Lor’themar then spoke to her, using her personal name in a familiar tone that was uncharacteristic of him and that she was uncomfortable with. “This could be the final nail in the Lich King’s coffin, your final victory over him in reversing his murder of you. As long as you remain like this, if you have the option to choose otherwise, he still has some hold over you.” He then added, “Finally be free of Arthas Menethil, you and your people. Live your own life again.”

 

Sylvanas wanted to lash out at Lor’themar, but held her shaking bronze metal clawed hand where it was. _How dare he suggest Arthas still has any power over me or my actions!_ She raged internally at the Sindorei Regent Lord. _I decide my own fate, not Arthas and not anyone!_

 

“Your position as warchief could only be strengthened by your living flesh.” Baine added to their arguments. “Otherwise, there will always be that lingering doubt in the minds of many as to whether or not they can trust you. You can erase it once and for all. If you will not do it for yourself, then do it for the Horde that we might be a truly unified people under your leadership.”

 

“At least consider the possibilities, warchief. Speak to this Jeshua, for the sake of the Horde if not for yourself.” Saurfang concluded.

 

Her anger at Lor’themar’s suggestion that the Lich King still had any hold over her had not abated, but her own calculating mind began to take their arguments into account even in spite of herself. She drew herself up into a posture and a stance of dominance and control and answered them, “Depending on what is best for my people, I will consider it. What I do, I do for them.”

 

* * *

 

In Hearthglen the same day…

 

Lord Maxwell Tyrosus approached Jeshua and his emissaries while he and they were sitting under a group of trees close to the old mine entrance. As was his regular practice, Jeshua was teaching them and anyone who would stay and listen.

 

It had been a few days since the council of the Knights of the Silver Hand had met to discuss the situation in Darrowshire and Jeshua in general. Since that council, the Argent Crusade had increased its patrols around the Plaguelands and its borders. He had never thought in his lifetime that he would have to put men on guard against _Alliance_ troops, but nothing was the same after Jeshua appeared.

 

He genuinely liked the younger man. He was about the same age as any son of his might be if life had presented different choices to the Paladin leader, and he had a natural easiness and openness with everyone.

 

Since the council meeting, Tyrosus had made contact with the Argent Crusade strongholds in Northrend. The plan had been to move Jeshua there until the tensions which had erupted with Lord Shadowbreaker’s “request” died down again. They could move him and his emissaries within days by Mage’s portal to a location where Greymane had no control. Then they could work to protect the people that were already present in the Plaguelands and demonstrate that they were no threat to anyone.

 

 _Seriously, how can a bunch of farmers and children be a threat to the old wolf, much less the might of Stormwind?_ He had wondered over and over again, remembering Joseph and Pamela Redpath.

 

Among those listening to Jeshua as he approached was a new face with auburn hair and beard wearing dark, fancy chainmail that might have been more suited for a Gilnean nobleman. A well made bow and quiver of arrows lay next to him as he sat with the others on the grass. This man looked familiar but Tyrosus could not place where he had seen him before. There was also a human couple, a man wearing Mage’s robes and a pretty young blond woman, neither any older than Jeshua himself, sitting together holding hands as though they would never be separated willingly. There was also a gray haired, bearded man wearing crimson robes depicting the sigils of the Scarlet Crusade. At first Tyrosus balked at the audacity of these “ambassadors” from New Hearthglen in the far northern continent requesting permission to visit Jeshua, but then he relented when discussing it with the young preacher. Jeshua would see everyone regardless of where they came from. Surprisingly, they had caused no trouble among his troops.

 

The tone of Jeshua’s teaching seemed different this time as Tyrosus stood there politely waiting for a point where he could break in and address the Silver Hand’s concerns and plan with him. Usually Jeshua would teach by telling stories that he appeared to have picked up during his travels and applying them to some point he was trying to make. But what he heard this time was somewhat disturbing to him.

 

“When the Lightborn comes in his full radiant glory, and all of the Holy Naaru with him, then he will sit on the throne of his ancestors in Lordaeron. All of the races and kingdoms will be brought before him in judgment and he will separate them as a farmer would separate the wheat grain from the chaff, the wheat going off to his right, but the chaff going off to his left hand.” Jeshua was telling them, his face serious and solemn.

 

Tyrosus stood silent. He had never heard the likable young preacher talk like this before. “Judgment” hadn’t been a word Jeshua had used frequently except to say that he hadn’t come to judge anyone.

 

“To those on the right, the king will say ‘Come you who are blessed by the Light, my kingdom is given to you freely because I was hungry and you fed me. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. I was naked and homeless and you clothed me and lent me a place to stay. I was an outcast, undead, and scarred and you had compassion for me and took me in.’ And then those on his right hand asked, ‘Majesty, when did we do any of these things for you?’ And then the king will reply, ‘As much as you did it for the least of my brothers, you did it for me.’”

 

 _So it is a story with a point._ Tyrosus thought. And then a light went on in his mind. _He can’t know what was said at the council, can he?_

 

“But to the chaff on his left the king instructed his servants to bind up tightly and throw them into a great purging of Holy Fire. Those on his left protested as the servants came to carry out his orders, ‘But why? What evil have we done to deserve that?’ The king looked at them with both anger and sorrow in his eyes as he said, ‘When I was hungry you let me starve. When I was thirsty you drank in front of me while I withered. I was naked and homeless and you beat me and threw me out of your city. I was an outcast, undead, and scarred and you tried to murder me and steal what little I had.’ Confused, those on his left cried out as they were being led away, ‘We never saw you like that, we swear! If we had we would have done something!’ The king then replied softly, his voice barely audible, ‘When you did these things to the least of my brothers, you did them to me.’ And the chaff was burned in the Light’s all consuming glory.”

 

Jeshua had paused for a time letting his words sink in to those who heard them. Tyrosus, having waited for just this chance, found that he couldn’t yet address him. The teacher’s words and all of their implications were still penetrating and weighing on his mind.

 

Jeshua then began to speak again, “At one time, there was a nobleman who had a farm that he had built himself. In his youth he had spent days with his workers to clear out the rocks and stones from the fields, build the farmhouse, and erect the barn and storage bins. He had intended to settle there himself away from the politics of the kingdom, but duty is not always so easy to escape from. So, he rented the farm out to tenants generously for only a share of the crops for his own family’s table, leaving the rest to the farmers who worked his land. When harvest time came around, he sent workers to collect his own share of the harvest. But when the tenants saw the workers, they refused the men and sent them back to the nobleman without anything. Thinking there had been some mistake—perhaps the tenants believed his servants to be thieves or brigands—he sent others wearing tabards with his house’s colors displayed clearly. But these men the tenants beat viciously, wounding one so badly that he died on the journey back, again empty handed. Caught up in the king’s business, the nobleman could not investigate the tenants himself so he called his only son to him, telling him to take a small party of men with him to investigate the farm and find out what was happening and why. But on the way, the tenants saw the nobleman’s son and the armed men through a spyglass from a distance. Not wanting to give up anything, and wanting the land for themselves, they armed themselves with scoped rifles and swords and lay in wait for them. When the nobleman’s son came into range, one of the tenants brought the man’s head into his crosshairs, and pulled the trigger. The son went down, and in the confusion, the tenants opened fire on the others, finishing them off with their swords, determined to have the nobleman’s land for themselves.”

 

Jeshua paused at the end, again letting those listening digest his words. After a minute, he then announced, “Tomorrow, I am traveling into Tirisfal Glades.”

 

 _Oh?_ Tyrosus’ eyebrows went up in surprise. “Teacher, the Argent Crusade has no jurisdiction in Tirisfal Glades. We could offer you no protection there.” He told him. “You would be at the mercy of the Banshee Queen.”

 

His followers also appeared surprised at his words. It was the first they had heard of it.

 

“I know that, Lord Tyrosus.” Jeshua replied to him.

 

There appeared to be an emotional struggle behind the man’s eyes which Tyrosus could see. There was something else as well.

 

“In two weeks time,” Jeshua began, “I will be badly beaten and bloodied until my broken body is hung up for all the world to see, and there in Lordaeron I will die. They will bury my body in the ground, but I will awaken from the dead on the third day.” He said this matter of factly, as though there was no question in his mind.

 

Looks of shock spread across the faces of the man’s followers, followed by a deep sadness and disbelief. Tyrosus himself stood there stunned.

 

“Captain, that’s just not possible! You know none of us would ever let that happen to you! We’d all go to Helheim and back before we let that happen!”

 

Nods of agreement from faces on the verge of tears went around the circle of people.

 

“It has to happen, Jim.” Jeshua told him. “It is my sire’s will.”

 

“It can’t be!” The old sailor responded, his voice tinged with a rising anger. “I’d die before I let that happen.”

 

“You’re going to run and hide before the sun rises, Jim.” Jeshua told him flatly.

 

Jim reeled backwards as though he had just been slapped. Pain and sadness filled the older man’s eyes. “How could you say that, Captain?”

 

The others who had been listening to him joined into Jim’s protestations. They all swore they would keep that from happening, and virtually all but one practically begged him not to head east. That one, the bearded man in the fine dark chainmail sat on the ground stoically, considering the man’s words. His own expression had been deeply troubled by Jeshua’s pronouncement, but he made no protest or vow to defend him even though he looked like he had no qualms about using the bow at his side.

 

“My sire is calling me home.” Jeshua then told them. “And I must finish my work quickly and go. If I don’t, the Light’s will for all of you won’t reach fruition. I must travel there. The rest of you are free to go where you will.”

 

“I never said I was just gonna let you walk into Tirisfal Glades on your own!” Jim then protested once more. “I told you I was going with you, and I meant it. All the way to the end!”

 

The others who had been with him from the beginning joined in Jim’s declaration. They would all go with him. The crimson robed man seemed less sure, as did the young man and his lady. The bearded archer stroked his beard in pensive thought.

 

Jeshua then stood up and made to head in the direction of the house he had occupied and the eight emissaries stood up to go with him. Seeing this, the bearded archer stood up himself and called to the teacher.

 

“Jeshua? May I have a word?” He asked.

 

“Of course, Nathanos.” Jeshua responded as he came over to speak with him apart from the others.

 

 _Nathanos_? Tyrosus questioned. He knew of only one man named Nathanos, and it was not a common name.

 

“Teacher, you would have my bow if you wish, but I do not believe this will be my Lady’s response to you. She would risk too much now if she did that to you.” Nathanos told him.

 

“Nor did I say it would be _her_ response.” Jeshua told him.

 

“Then let me come with you to ensure your safety.” Nathanos told him, a short list of those who might harm the man coming to his mind.

 

“No one can take my life from me unless I give it willingly, and if I give it, I can take it back again as well. No. Go home, Nathanos. Wait there and rebuild the life which has been given to you. Remember what I have taught you.” The teacher told him instead.

 

Uncomfortable with it, but respecting the man’s wishes, Nathanos replied, “I will, teacher. Will I see you again?” He then asked.

 

“Perhaps. We shall see.” Jeshua responded.

 

The young teacher then turned to head back to the house. As he passed Lord Tyrosus, the Paladin asked him, “What happened next in your story Jeshua? You never finished it.”

 

Jeshua looked into the man’s eyes intently and then told him, “The nobleman was a Paladin. He reached his son in time, raised him from the dead, and then came with the king’s army to destroy those tenants with Holy Fire. The Light defends its own.”

 

Lord Tyrosus stood there in silence as Jeshua continued on his way. He didn’t know why, but his whole body was shaking at Jeshua’s words.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

 

In Stormwind…

 

Dark, threatening clouds blanketed the skies over Stormwind that late afternoon. There had been a downpour all day across the city, spilling into Elwynn Forest. The southern city so rarely saw real storms coming in off the coast that the common people packed up their business early and took refuge indoors to wait it out. Overhead, occasional lightning danced across the sky.

 

Lord Greymane had been watching the storm fall down upon the city for most of the day. A hot mug of mulled wine was held in both hands as he sipped it. It was an exhilarating, beautiful thing in its own right. It almost reminded him of the storms which would come down on his own kingdom of Gilneas. Standing at the open window in Stormwind Keep, he almost reveled in the wet air and mist which would come through to moisten his human form skin.

 

He missed Gilneas. There was an ache in his heart for the country of his birth, and the kingdom which was his ancestral birthright. He had not returned to Greymane manor since the evacuation. There was an ache in his heart too to visit the grave of his son once more, and honor him and his sacrifice which had saved the much older man’s life. But such things had been stolen from him, first by the Worgen’s curse ironically during a Worgen hunt, and then by Sylvanas Windrunner and the Forsaken armies.

 

Fate was a cruel and cold tormentor to the aging king in exile.

 

_Knock! Knock!_

 

“Lord Greymane, are you in there? I have urgent news for you!” A baritone voice called through the thick wood of the door to his private apartments in the Keep.

 

“Come!” He called back, not bothering to turn around. His voice had been loud enough for anyone to hear.

 

The door creaked open and in walked the Paladin lord, Grayson Shadowbreaker. He came into the room and shut the heavy door behind him. “My lord, I have news from the Silver Hand council.”

 

“Yes?” Greymane asked, “Go on.”

 

“My lord, they have refused to take part in any purging of those newly raised in the Plaguelands or anywhere else. They do not believe...”

 

Then Genn Greyman turned around, a feral look in his still human eyes. “Do they not understand what we are dealing with?” He asked. “This kind of necromancy has not been seen since the Lich King himself walked Azeroth.”

 

“My lord, they do not believe that those that were raised are anything more or less than they seem.” Lord Shadowbreaker attempted to explain.

 

“So Bishop Marcus then, a member of the Priestly order for decades since the second war; his word, his eyewitness testimony on what he saw carries no weight with them?” Greymane appeared in disbelief.

 

“My lord, Lord Tyrosus disagreed strongly about the nature of the raising and the man who performed it. The Highlord valued his opinion over both mine and Bishop Marcus’. They fought side by side during the Legion war, so that at least wasn't unexpected. There is more as well.” The Paladin told him.

 

“More?” Greymane asked.

 

“The Argent Crusade, with assistance from Lady Liadrin’s Blood Knights, has mobilized its forces to defend the borders of the Plaguelands against any incursion or attempt at Holy purging by Alliance forces. Both Lord Tyrosus and Lady Liadrin have the full support of the Highlord in this matter.” Lord Shadowbreaker reported.

 

Greymane nearly choked on his mulled wine and he had to quickly set it down on the table. It splashed and steaming hot droplets caught on his aging bare hand, burning it in several places.

 

“Are they insane?” He asked when he could finally speak again. “Are they really going to put the lives of abominations and monsters ahead of a decades long partnership with the Alliance?”

 

“It would seem so.” The Paladin confirmed. “Regardless of the known impossibility, they are willing to believe that this Jeshua is actually doing what he appears to be doing, at least until it is proven otherwise.”

 

“The whole world appears to have come under this man’s spell.” Greymane commented.

 

“My lord, should I inform King Wrynn?” Lord Shadowbreaker asked.

 

“No, Grayson, not yet. I will speak to the king about it when the time comes. He is still willing to give the fraud the benefit of the doubt thanks to Velen’s praise of the con man. This must be handled delicately.” The Gilnean lord told him.

 

“Of course. I will return to my duties in the Cathedral if you should require my assistance again.” The Paladin told him. “Until then.” He said, and then turned to walk out.

 

“Until then.” Greymane told him.

 

When the Paladin lord had left his apartments, Greymane checked his hand that had been burned. Little red welts formed on the back and around the base of his thumb. No doubt at least some of them would blister even as they stung at him furiously. His human form felt frail now most of the time. Genn Greymane was pushing eighty years old. Sooner rather than later, Sylvanas Windrunner would outlast him. After that he did not know what would happen to his soul, except that his would meet a far different fate than the Banshee bitch’s would.

 

In truth, he was truly inclined to believe the Bishop’s assessment of the situation he saw in the Plaguelands. Shadow magic could do powerful things, as he was well aware of. The devil’s bargain which had been forced upon him and his people, the Worgen’s curse, had been the only thing which had saved them from the fate Sylvanas inflicted upon all of the fallen she could get her hands on. This had not been any _Holy_ work either. The Light had abandoned Gilneas in its hour of need, and Genn Greymane was a pragmatic man. Gilneas was his highest calling, not some high minded bit of theology or philosophy. If Sargeras himself would have lent a hand at that time he might have taken it, but that was how desperate they had become. It was how desperate he had become. It was only luck that the Alliance had beaten the demon lord to it. It was a dark time which had produced dark results for all of them. But he and his people were still alive. Afflicted with the Worgen’s blood and scattered across the world, but alive.

 

Genn left off looking at his hand and began considering the problem again. The problem was a man with a name, _Jeshua_. He had never met him or seen him, but in the span of a few short months he had turned the world upside down and threatened to ruin all of Genn’s carefully laid plans for an invasion of Lordaeron and the Undercity itself.

 

How could he possibly convince Anduin to invade a kingdom that now at least appeared partly human? The Paladin Order could have been a natural ally against the monsters, but they too had become blinded to the truth. The reports from his own Worgen spies in Tirisfal Glades were not encouraging on that front either. It seemed that the undead monsters were going to the man in droves for his “cure”.

 

Jeshua himself was the problem. But how to solve it? To play the demon's advocate, if they really were cured, those new humans in the north could be a valuable resource in the war he had been carefully fostering, but his spies also reported they were all still loyal to their undead queen, living or not.

 

Living humans swearing allegiance to Sylvanas Windrunner! The very idea was unfathomable to him, but his spies were good at what they did and he did not doubt their reports. And another development had occurred as well.

 

His man on the inside had reported that the Blightcaller had been “cured” as well. Greymane’s instincts told him that where her lover (if such a thing was even possible) went, Sylvanas would follow shortly afterwards. This he would not permit. The Banshee bitch would not be given a free pass from the damnation that had so certainly awaited her. Jeshua had to be neutralized before that occurred.

 

 _What if the humans could be turned against her?_ The wheels in his mind began to turn hard and fast. _Say, what if she became upset with this Jeshua and made an example of him_? _Would they then be so loyal to her if they believed she murdered the man who cured them_?

 

Perhaps the Jeshua problem could be solved after all.

 

Outside, lightning flashed overhead and the thunder began to rumble almost immediately.

 

* * *

 

In Tirisfal Glades a week later…

 

The sky over Tirisfal Glades was covered in dark clouds that morning. That seemed to be the usual weather for the region as Jeshua and his followers had traveled along the main highway west. Strange glowing eyes watched them from darkened, but living trees, and the screeching of large bats could be heard around them.

 

After stopping and resting in Andorhal for a night, he spent the night and part of the next morning teaching and meeting with those cured who had come to him in Hearthglen. Many of these brought with them friends who had not come then or seen his emissaries. Upon their request, he and those with them cured many in the town before continuing on down the road past old, dilapidated farm houses and fields. Although, as they passed, many of the houses and structures now appeared to be showing signs of fresh timbers and stonework, and the fields tilled by living human hands.

 

They had then been stopped at the Forsaken fortification known as the Bulwark which marked the beginning of the Horde’s territorial boundaries. The guards and personnel there were a mix of both living and undead humans who maintained the border crossing into explicitly Horde claimed territory. The guards had been given notification about the travelers coming through by their own Orcish Argent Crusade ambassador who kept in regular contact with Hearthglen. When those undead Deathguards who had not made the journey to see Jeshua themselves had seen who they were, knowing what had been done for their comrades, they had stepped aside without incident, also recognizing Amerian and Vasuuvata from their recent sojourn into their lands.

 

In all, twelve unusual travelers were permitted entry into Tirisfal Glades: Jeshua, his eight emissaries, the Mage Philip and Alicia his wife (whom Jeshua had resurrected at Darrowhire) had also chosen to go with him, and the Scarlet Crusade cleric called Judah Kriet (who had been present at the Darrowshire event) chose to walk with them as well. He was mostly a quiet person and kept to himself, but his eyes were keen, taking in everything, and he listened intently to Jeshua's every word.

 

Once they had passed through, the Bulwark commander instructed one of his Deathguards, “Take a bat and get word to the Undercity, Jeshua Lightborn and his emissaries have entered Tirisfal Glades and are traveling west.”

 

The Deathguard, an undead man, responded immediately and was soon airborn after that.

 

The twelve of them spent the nights camping by the side of the road. Amerian had warned them of the undead dogs and animals that wandered close to the road that he and Vasuuvata had seen on their previous journey, though they had not gone as far in as Jeshua intended now. Strangely, those animals appeared to avoid them whenever they stopped to rest.

 

More often than not each night of their journey, an undead traveler be it a soldier, a traveling merchant, or just one of the commoners would see the campfire they had built and the twelve unusual travelers and investigate. Just as often, those who stopped to investigate stayed to listen, having heard of the man, and would end the next morning with a beating heart.

 

On the seventh day after leaving Hearthglen, they came within sight of the walls of the ancient city. The high, thick stone walls were still imposing even in spite of decades of ruin and decay. They wrapped around the former Alliance capital for what seemed like miles, circling around the cliffs overlooking Lordamere Lake. Crumbling towers and battlements along the walls, however, strangely appeared unmanned for such a fortified stronghold, and there was the general stillness in the air of the landscape that was unnerving.

 

To the north of the city could be seen tall stone towers, the tops of which held what looked like wood and stone docks for the large, purple ballooned, zeppelin airships that appeared to be tied to them when the travelers first saw them. Two ships were currently “in port” as it were at the tops of the towers, while a third was empty at the present.

 

Jeshua and those following passed a fork in the paved road that led north where another smaller town could be seen in the distance. Jeshua himself, however, seemed intent on the larger fortified ruins ahead of them and kept walking.

 

Having experienced his mind on such matters before, even when they didn’t understand, his emissaries did not question his decision this time but followed behind. Philip, Alicia, and Judah however all had alarmed expressions on their faces when their teacher appeared to be intent on the Horde occupied city itself ahead of them.

 

From the distance they were at, as they approached along the road, a large gathering of what looked to be several hundred people with torches stood on the road in between themselves and the walled city. Seeing the group of people, the Mage’s expression became anxious and fearful.

 

“Teacher, look ahead.” Philip, who had been walking near Jeshua pointed down the road in front of them, his voice tense.

 

Jeshua however, his own manner calm had already seen them. “I know, Philip. They’ve been expecting us for some time.”

 

“They have?” The Mage asked, though Jeshua didn’t appear to hear the question.

 

The crowd of people was larger than it first appeared, almost as if the entire city had turned out to meet them. Most appeared to carry the lit torches they had seen, and as they drew closer, much to Philip’s surprise, many of them appeared to be carrying bouquets of peacebloom, silverleaf, and other flowers that the Mage couldn’t identify offhand. At least half of the crowd appeared to be living humans, the other half appeared to be undead that had come to to see the arrival of the extraordinary healer they had heard so much about, and had transformed their Forsaken brothers and sisters.

 

“There he is!” One of the humans called out. A man in a simple brown shirt and blue farmer’s overalls then pointed at Jeshua and his followers, shouting, “Look! There they are!”

 

An expression of panic came over the gray bearded man Judah’s face. “Teacher, perhaps we should think this through again.” He said as he took a mental count of the number of people waiting on the road for them. “Not everyone in that crowd might be happy to see us.”

 

“Return to Hearthglen if you wish, Judah. I must go forward.” Jeshua told him.

 

The whole crowd appeared to turn and look in the direction of the eastern road to see them. When Jeshua drew near, the crowd parted to create a long corridor through them up to the open gates of the city. And then the crowd began casting their bouquets of flowers all along the path they had created.

 

It was then that a human man’s voice called out from the mass of people, “Hail Jeshua Lightborn, savior of Lordaeron!”

 

An uneasy ripple went through the undead in the crowd, but then another human, a woman this time, picked up the call and shouted again, “Hail, Jeshua Lightborn, savior of Lordaeron!”

 

And then another, and another, and another until the cry could be heard echoing off the stone walls of the city and filling the area between the gate of the city and the zeppelin towers.

 

Jeshua continued on his path, a determination in his eyes as he walked the flower strewn path up to the city gates, his followers behind him. Many in the crowd reached out to try and shake his hand or at least touch him as he continued on his path.

 

Disturbed, one of the undead Forsaken men who had turned out to see the teacher’s arrival stopped him briefly and, pulling him aside with concern in his dead eyes, said to him in a raspy, ominous voice, “Teacher, you need to stop these people from shouting this. The Dark Lady will not be pleased with what they are saying about you.”

 

But Jeshua replied, a fire lit in his own eyes, “I can’t, my friend. Even if I did, the walls of Lordaeron itself would continue to cry out in joy at my coming. What must happen, must happen.”

 

After this, Jeshua and his followers continued on, leaving the undead man to shake his head in bewilderment at the teacher’s audacity. Even if he himself did not report the events of today to his queen, he was certain others would. The Banshee Queen brooked no challenges to her own authority, and the title which the humans in the crowd had bestowed on him, he was certain, would be seen as such.

 

The procession of Jeshua and his followers continued on through the gates of the city. The massive undead Undercity Guardians, huge unnatural creations, sewn together from body parts of various species and races, which stood sentry protecting the city and its residents, stood by and did not interfere. They too had been notified of the man’s entry, and as they had been told not to kill humans in the city now by the queen herself, they did nothing. Their own intelligence was not able to process more than there were now more living humans in the city than there had been.

 

Jeshua came first into the main courtyard of the city. Once a peaceful place of fountains and green growing grass graced with statuary, now only the headstones of those fallen to the plague before the city’s final overthrow adorned it. Directly ahead of him was a large wooden gate which looked like it had not been opened in decades. His eyes lingered on the solitary gate with a sad expression on his face before averting his eyes and turning them elsewhere. Up above them and beyond the gate could be seen two great domes, the lesser one directly in front, and the greater one just beyond it.

 

The crowd of people came through the gates behind him and filled the courtyard from one end to the other.

 

Jeshua then turned to one of these, a human woman, and asked, “I would like to see the old cathedral, if that would be possible.”

 

“It has not been opened or used since the death of the old king, Terenas Menethil, teacher.” The woman responded. “No one has bothered to seek entry since. It was… uncomfortable to do so, even for Bishop Faol when he was here.”

 

Jeshua nodded his understanding but answered her, “Still, if it is possible, I would like to go there.”

 

Nodding, the woman looked to those around him, and then she waved for them to follow her up through a gated corridor and into another wing of the city. The whole procession followed after them, many of them wondering what Jeshua would do now that he was there. Would they see more people cured? Would they see something else extraordinary? Stories had flown from one end of Lordaeron to the other of the things Jeshua could and did do.

 

He followed the city’s residents around ruined colonnades and housing, past crumbling walls, and more of the undead guardians patrolling the surface city’s ruins. Grass had overgrown stone paving in many places, and cracks and fallen stonework could be seen everywhere.

 

Finally, he was led to a set of stairs which led up to the great domed structure in the heart of the ancient capital. Stained glass windows higher up could be seen adorning the curvature of the cylindrical walls. The stylized “L” symbol of the fallen kingdom could be seen integrated into the stained glass as well as emblazoned in peeling gold leaf on the doors.

 

Jeshua ascended the stone steps which led to the set of tall, arched double doors. At one time they might have been painted a deep shade of blue. Now, the paint had faded to a dark gray as though all the life had been drained from the structure and it too was as dead as the city’s residents had become.

 

Jeshua’s followers stood behind him, watching his every movement.

 

He stepped up to the door and pushed against it. The door itself had neither been locked or latched, and it swung open with a creaking that told of the many years its hinges had sat idle. The door opened to its fullest extent and the interior was dark, the minimal sunlight that came through Tirisfal Glades’ cloud cover not being able to penetrate through the windows as it had once upon a time.

 

Then Jeshua went inside, and his emissaries went after him, followed by the Mage, his wife, and the Scarlet Crusade cleric. The crowd which had followed him however appeared uncertain of crossing the old church’s threshold, hesitating at entering the building.

 

More than one of them, as undead, had experienced the painful burning which occurred when they came into contact with the Holy Light as it naturally sought to undo the dark magic which had bound their souls to their dead corpses. It was uncomfortable to be around most Light imbued objects. The cathedral had been the center of the worship of the Holy Light in Lordaeron up until the death of King Terenas by the hand of his own son. Many felt that was the moment when the Light itself had forsaken Lordaeron’s people, but those undead that had returned to the city had studiously, even superstitiously avoided the ancient church for that reason.

 

Finally, one of the human men worked up his own courage to follow after the teacher they had come to see. And then the woman who had led him there, and then several more followed after to see what the teacher would do in the ruined, and unused temple to the Holy Light. Those undead in the crowd however, fearful of what entering the church could mean for them, remained outside of it.

 

Within the ancient, darkened cathedral, Jeshua stood unmoving in the central aisle between several rows of musty wooden pews which ringed around the sanctuary. A long blue carpet ran between them from the double door entrance up to the marble stone altar which stood on a raised white stone dais in the center directly under the dome high above. On the surface of the altar could still be seen an open copy of the Tome of Divinity, the sacred text which all those devoted to the Holy Light studied from. To either side dried, dead flowers still stood upright in vases.

 

His followers and those behind him had entered the darkened church in silence. Like most other parts of the city, the sacred structure felt in many ways like a tomb where dead things slept. The wall sconces which held lamps were dark and cold. Shadows played around the walls and pews, cast by what feeble light came through the open door. A thick layer of dust covered everything.

 

Without turning to face them, Jeshua asked those behind him, “Have any of those not yet cured come inside?”

 

“No Shan’do,” Amerian answered. “They appear almost afraid of this place.”

 

Jeshua nodded slowly. “Would you please close the door behind us?” He then told them.

 

Amerian paused for a moment, not certain if he heard his Shan’do correctly.

 

“Please, my friend.” Jeshua asked again.

 

The Night Elf then went back to the door and closed it, leaving only Jeshua, his followers, and those few human residents of the city brave enough to follow him in. He then returned to stand next to the Draenei woman and the rest of the emissaries, uncertain of what his Shan’do was going to do. In Amerian’s opinion, Jeshua had been acting strangely over the past week, beginning with his decision to come here at all and his announcement, for the second time Amerian had known him, that he was going to die in Lordaeron.

 

As those who had followed him in looked on, Jeshua’s whole appearance began to change. His robe which had been somewhat worn and become dingy from travel began to shine with a radiant white light like none of them had ever seen before. His hair and beard turned molten gold and bright silver and light shone from every inch of him. It intensified to the point where those watching thought they might go blind and they shut their eyes tightly, looking away for fear of it. It became like looking into the sun itself. Holy Light streamed from the point where his sandaled feet touched the floor of the cathedral and radiated out into all directions, running across the wooden pews and up the walls setting the lamps on them ablaze with Holy Fire. The Light reached the altar and lit the lampstands on either side, transforming them into blazing stars on either side of the stone table. The purging, cleansing Light destroyed the darkness and shadows which had taken root within the church and those within felt as if they were being overwhelmed with the pure radiance of life itself. The Light scoured the layers of dust which had accumulated across the sanctuary from years of abandonment by the people.

 

Like the others, Jim had been overwhelmed by the display of Holy power and had shut his eyes against the searing, purging radiance, even covering them with his arm after they were shut because his eyelids had proven no match to the task. But then he began hearing the voices of two men speaking with Jeshua that he had not heard before.

 

Daring to open them, Jim saw two men glowing with pure light in front of Jeshua. Both appeared dressed in the heavy, gilded plate armor common to Paladins of the Silver Hand. One appeared to have a heavy, two handed sword sheathed against his back, the other wielded a great two handed hammer. Jim hadn’t ever been a religious man before he met Jeshua, but he had seen statues of the two men before; one in Stormwind when he had visited the cathedral district as a younger man on shore leave, and the other just recently in Hearthglen.

 

There was no mistake. Jeshua was speaking with Highlord Tirion Fordring, who had perished during the Legion war, and Uther the Lightbringer who fell to Arthas the Lich King during the third war. Yet they were not translucent as spirits or ghosts were. He had seen those up close and personal in Darrowshire. No, these men were solid, though appeared to be made of golden, radiant Holy Light itself as they moved, gesturing as they spoke.

 

“The old wolf has made his move in the south, my lord.” Tirion told Jeshua. “His men are just waiting for the opportunity to strike.”

 

“I know.” Jeshua replied. “I had expected as much. What is to come… is difficult.” His own tone appeared pained at the thought.

 

“You will prevail, sire.” Uther told him. “Just hang in there a little while longer and then the dawn will come for Azeroth. The Dark Lady will come soon, and then all the pieces will be in place.”

 

Jeshua nodded.

 

“One of your emissaries has seen us, my lord.” Tirion then told him, gesturing to where Jim stood dumbstruck at the sight.

 

Jeshua nodded, and then slowly turned to face Jim. As he did, Jim saw his teacher’s eyes. They were completely ablaze with the Light, so that neither the whites nor irises nor pupils could be seen, and Jim’s entire body began shaking as he realized he was looking into the face of the Divine.

 

“Go. We will speak again later.” Jeshua told them, gesturing his dismissal as a king to his vassals.

 

Both men, wrapped in Holy Light, took a knee before him, saluting even as they worshiped him before their forms began merging with the Light which had filled the church and then they could no longer be distinguished from it.

 

Jim couldn’t move. Every muscle had been frozen into place as his eyes were fixed on Jeshua. His heart was racing. He felt both terrified and overjoyed at the sight, awestruck and overwhelmed. His mortal mind tried to comprehend it, but it kept running into its own limitations.

 

 _I see the Holy Light himself._ The thought forced its way across Jim’s mind, even as he couldn’t comprehend it.

 

Gradually, the purging Light drew back from the rest of the cathedral and appeared to be recalled to Jeshua’s lone form. Soon, there was only Jeshua once more as Jim had known him. But he still couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, and couldn’t take his eyes off of the man he had come to call, “Captain.”

 

Jeshua then approached Jim, walking down the royal blue carpet which suddenly appeared fresh and new as though it had just been woven and laid. He placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and said tenderly, “Peace, Jim. Don’t be afraid, it’s just me.”

 

Suddenly, Jim’s muscles released and he found himself able to speak again. Peaceful calm flooded his entire body and he was able to move his head and eyes. Those others who had been with him were also able to uncover their eyes again. When they did, the sanctuary appeared radically transformed.

 

All of the lamps and candlestands in the church were lit and were shining brightly. Somehow, there were no shadows left anywhere as light appeared to fill the sanctuary from every angle. The layers of dust which had been present had all disappeared, and the entire cathedral appeared fresh and new as though it had just been built the day before.

 

“What just--” Jim tried to frame the words to ask the question, but his mind was still having trouble with it. “What just happened, Captain?”

 

“This is my Sire’s house.” Jeshua told him. “It was meant to be a place of worship and prayer where all are welcome, not a crypt for the dead.”

 

Jeshua then addressed the Night Elf, Amerian, again. “Go ahead and open the doors to the cathedral again. Tell those outside, everyone is welcome in the Light’s house no matter who they are. Tell them, come, they don’t have to fear the Holy Light any longer.”

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

 

On the coast of Durotar in Kalimdor…

 

The early Durotar morning was cool but not cold. The sun had only just barely risen over the Great Sea and the lightly clouded sky was still covered in streaks of red, orange, and gold. The parched red desert would heat up dramatically throughout the day, but for most of its inhabitants, the time just after dawn could be the most comfortable.

 

The undead, hooded elven queen rarely paid attention to such things. Instead, she had been at Orgrimmar’s sea port to inspect the Orcs’ fleet of dreadnoughts and transports. She would need them both, as well as Silvermoon’s fleet of destroyers, if she was going to mount an assault on Stormwind City.

 

She had only visited it once in life, long before the orcish invasions from Draenor, but her spies had supplied her with good intelligence on the city’s layout. The human capital had been sacked once by the Horde at the end of the first war and reduced mostly to rubble, but when it had been rebuilt, it had been rebuilt as a nearly impenetrable fortress designed to make any invader pay for ever foot gained dearly. Every district of the city was surrounded by thick, reinforced walls and surrounded by canals which formed a perpetual moat throughout it. Assualting the city by sea was also problematic as the actual gates from Stormwind’s port were a good hundred feet from the docks themselves and only reachable by steep, easily defendable stairs. She could use the cannons from the dreadnoughts to pound the city, but it wouldn’t accomplish her goals without being able to put warriors on the ground inside of it. Air drops by zeppelin gunships could put a limited number of Horde troops in the city, but not enough to actually capture it. Portals had their limitations as well.

 

The salty air irritated her lifeless nose as she moved down the docks, making careful mental notes on the fighting capabilities of each ship and their crews. None of them of course yet knew they would be doing any fighting soon, but they would. Her plans had almost come to fruition.

 

Almost.

 

Varok Saurfang in particular had dug in his heels, as had Baine Bloodhoof once the situation with Jeshua had been made known to them. Saurfang in particular had no stomach for war any longer, quite literally as it were. The Orcish man couldn’t even bring himself to eat pork because the screams the pigs made when they were slaughtered reminded him of the screams of slaughtered children during the wars he had fought in. They were both convinced now that this man might be the key to a diplomatic and peaceful solution.

 

Jeshua.

 

The vagabond preacher was an annoying nuisance to her who had, with his mere presence, completely upended everything she had built. She felt as though she had no control, no leverage whatsoever over the man, and this angered her. With a smile he had blackmailed her into permitting living humans within her lands and her own complicity in allowing them to thrive. Her own champion had abandoned her for what the man offered, and his cure even challenged the very essence of who she had become, and the identity she had assumed.

 

The most annoying thing about him however was that she did want the cure he offered, and he knew it. The question then became, what would she be willing to give up for it? It was not a question she had the answer to yet, because at present as she considered what it would cost her, the answer continuously came up, _everything._ That was an unacceptable cost. All the plans she had made for her vengeance against Stormwind would disappear completely. Her entire undead kingdom would possibly crumble. More to the point, she would lose her very identity. It would completely destroy who she had become as the Banshee Queen, and she did not know who she would be afterwards.

 

It was that lack of certainty, that lack of knowing the final outcome that she could not tolerate. She would admit this to no one, not even Nathanos were he there with her, but the prospect of such a transformation _terrified_ Sylvanas even as much as she wanted it desperately. Would the Light really take such mercy on her and grant her living flesh again with every demon’s choice she had made for herself and her people? Or would it destroy her in judgment were she to attempt it? That was a risk she wasn’t yet prepared to take, regardless of what Jeshua had told her.

 

“My lady!” An undead rider on skeletal horseback came down the road from the west calling for her. He wore the tabard and livery of one of her own Dreadguards from the Undercity.

 

She stopped and turned her head in his direction, giving the walking corpse her full attention. It looked as if the man had personally ridden, by portal, all the way from the Undercity.

 

“What is it, Dreadguard?” She asked in return, sensing the urgency of his message.

 

“My queen, the preacher Jeshua has come to the Undercity!” The Dreadguard told her.

 

“What?! He’s in the Undercity itself?” She asked in disbelief. The man was either more brave or more foolish than she thought. “When did this happen?”

 

“Five days ago, and no, my lady. He and his followers remain on the surface in the old ruins.” The soldier said. “There is more as well.” The Dreadguard told her.

 

 _More?_ “Speak.” She commanded, taking an irritated mental note that no one had seen fit to inform her of these developments for almost a week.

 

“When he arrived, those humans among us welcomed him as though he were royalty, hailing him as the ‘savior of Lordaeron.’ His first act within the city was to reopen the old cathedral and cleanse it for the Light.” The Dreadguard reported.

 

“Five days? You waited for five days to report this to me?” The anger rose in her voice audibly, and the expression on her face became deadly.

 

“The magistrates had initially felt that the situation was under control because of your previous edicts regarding the man. He had caused no further disturbances except teaching in the old cathedral and curing those among us who have gone to him. Otherwise he and his followers have been staying with the humans in the new housing you permitted for the living.” He told her. “I was only sent hours ago after complaints by several of the Shadow Priests reached the magistrates. They wish to know what to do about them.”

 

 _The Shadow Priests?_ She thought. It was almost laughable that it was the concerns of rot-brained, maddened clergy that had finally moved someone to inform her of the new developments. _Damn him!_ Her mind whirled with the implications and consequences of the preacher’s actions. It hadn’t been wholly unexpected, but he had moved faster than she had calculated. _Almost half of the Undercity now are living humans! With he and his followers there in the city there may not soon be any undead left in Lordaeron. All of those humans literally owe him their lives. He’s going to cause an uprising against me and there will be little I can do to prevent it!_

 

To the Dreadguard she commanded, “Find me a Mage, Dreadguard! I need a portal to the Undercity. Now!”

 

* * *

 

In the ruins of Lordaeron just after sunset…

 

The small, upstairs apartment had been only recently restored in what had been the trade district of the ancient city. Smells of fresh wood and cement work still lingered in the air. Bare floorboards which had been patched and repaired in many places still had yet to be sanded down. What furniture there was in it was spartan but serviceable for human use.

 

It had been recently claimed and occupied by a tailor whom Jeshua had cured. When the teacher and his followers had come into the city, the man had generously lent it to them, instead choosing to room with another friend of his in another apartment nearby while the extraordinary healer was in the city.

 

It had been time for the evening meal, and the twelve of them were crowded around a rough hewn circular wooden table meant for half that many, using old chairs, crates, and anything else they could find to sit on. In front of them on the table, Jeshua himself had set the plates and utensils, and laid out the meal of roasted mutton, a blue cheese, spiced bread, and a large glass bottle of dark red wine which, though it had reached the midpoint of the dinner, strangely had yet to be opened and poured. The other oddity on the table was that there was only a single large ceramic cup that had yet to be filled, and this sat next to Jeshua himself. All of the items for their supper had been provided to them by several, grateful citizens of the city who had, throughout the week, given food, blankets, and other things so that they hadn’t gone without anything they needed.

 

When their plates had been all but finished, Jeshua set his own utensils down and looked at each of them intently. He had elected to sit on a low, upright wooden stool which had still been sitting in the corner in the apartment, even though his followers urged him to take one of the two actual chairs which had been at the table. Instead, he had given it to Alicia, the other one going to Vasuuvata, though both women had protested.

 

He then told them, his voice sincere, “I’ve been looking forward to this meal for a long time.”

 

The others then stopped eating and gave him their full attention. Jim in particular appeared to hang on his every word.

 

“I’m not going to be with you for much longer, but there is much I need to say to you before I go.” He then said. “And where I am going, you can’t follow me yet.”

 

Pained expressions could be seen on their faces. He hadn’t spoken like this to any of them since almost two weeks before in Hearthglen, and they had hoped it would have stayed that way.

 

“Shan’do, where are you going that we can’t follow you? We’re in the ruins of Lordaeron itself, surrounded and even welcomed by the undead.” Amerian asked, confused. What could be more impossible than that?

 

Jeshua smiled, a sadness though filled his eyes as he continued, “There is a place for everyone who comes to my Sire. I must go and prepare those places for all of you, and all of those after you.” He then added, “You all know where I am going. I haven’t hidden it from you, and I have taught you all how to get there.”

 

“Shan’do, I for one at least, truly do not understand.” Amerian said, looking around at his comrades. “How can I know how to go where you are going, if I do not know where you are going? You haven’t even told us what road to take.”

 

“I am the road itself, Amerian,” Jeshua replied, “just as I am truth itself, and I am life itself. From now on, no one comes to the Holy Light except it be through me.”

 

“Then it would be enough for us that you show us the Light, Shan’do.” Amerian told him, trying to comprehend what he was saying. “You need not go anywhere.”

 

At this however, Jim visibly tensed as his eyes locked on Jeshua, a look of apprehension appearing on his face. The incident in the cathedral had been burned into his heart and mind.

 

Jeshua again smiled sadly at his friend, “Have you spent all this time with me, Amerian, and you don’t yet know who I am? The Holy Light and I are one, the Holy Light within me, and I within the Light. Every word I have spoken, and every action I have taken has been my Sire speaking and acting through me. None of it has been my own. I have been showing you my Sire since you first met me. I’m not asking you to understand it, but I am asking you to believe it.”

 

Jeshua then continued after Amerian could not answer him, “As I told you before, if you believe in me, and remain in me, then everything you’ve seen me do, you will also be able to do, and not just this. I must return to my Sire. If you don’t remain within me, then you will be powerless and wandering in the darkness, because you can’t do anything without me. But if you remain in me, and allow me to remain within you, you will pray to the Holy Light and I will do anything you ask of me that the Holy Light would reveal its glory to the world through what you ask.”

 

Jeshua then took the bottle of wine which had been kept in reserve and opened it, pulling the cork. He then filled the cup with the dark red, blood like liquid. When it was nearly full, he set the bottle of wine down again, and placed the cup directly in front of him.

 

“You have all heard of the pact that the Gilneans made to save themselves from becoming undead. They were made to drink the blood of a Worgen that they might themselves become Worgen. Tonight, I am making a new pact with all of you in my blood.” Jeshua told them.

 

The reactions of those who heard them were mixed. Looks of fear, repulsion, and uncertainty could be seen around their table, but all of them respected and loved their teacher enough to hear him out and follow through with him.

 

Jeshua then placed his right hand over the cup. A brief glow of Light passed between the cup and his hand as he said, “Within this cup is the blood of this new pact I am making with you and all those who will follow me because of you. If you remain within me, and allow me to remain within you, if you believe in me, then anything you ask me, praying to the Holy Light, I will do for you. I am giving you a command in this, that you love one another as you know I have loved each one of you. No one could love another more than that they die for them. I am leaving, but I will never abandon you or forsake you, and I will return and come for you when it is time.”

 

Jeshua then handed the cup to Amerian who sat next to him and said, “Take this all of you and drink from it.”

 

The Night Elf looked at the cup, worry and repulsion at the image that Jeshua had presented to him evident on his face. He was disturbed and concerned for his Shan’do, but he had also seen what the man could do, and had done. The scent of the wine before him reached his nostrils, and it smelled no different to him than other blends he had imbibed during his life, perhaps a little darker, a little more of the oak cask the wine had been fermented in having seeped into the liquid. In faith, he brought the cup of wine to his lips, and sipped from it, and then handed it to Vasuuvata who sat next to him.

 

She too wrestled with the imagery the teacher invoked, and the implications of what she was about to do, but out of sincere respect and affection for her young human teacher, she too sipped from the cup. The wine tasted no different from any other red wine she had tasted, maybe a little more bitter, but that could have been the wine itself. As the wine passed her lips, however, she felt something change within her irrevocably, as though another, familiar presence had taken up residence. Another mind as as it were, another heart...

 

Her eyes then shot towards her teacher as she realized to whom that new presence belonged. Somehow, Jeshua had made himself a part of her forever. No, he would never leave her now, nor she him.

 

Each of those present took the wine and sipped from it, and as they did, the revelation of what had occurred stunned each of them as Jeshua’s own Light filled presence infused and merged with each one of them. One of them however, after taking the one looked distinctly uncomfortable, as if in pain. Judah’s face twisted as though he had taken something extremely sour.

 

When the cup returned to Jeshua, he set it down in front of him and continued to speak, “As many times as you and those after you drink from this cup of my blood, do it to remember and continue this pact I make with you. If you love me, you will keep everything I have taught and commanded you since you have known me. I want you to teach it to others, and spread it across the face of Azeroth. Don’t be afraid, no matter what happens. The Shadow is coming tonight, and it must come for the moment, but only for the moment, just as the night must come before the sun dawns in the east. There will be one more dark night, and then the dawn will come.”

 

Jeshua began to speak faster, as though a deadline was approaching, “No student is better than his teacher, and no servant is better than the noble he serves. Those who hate me, will hate you too. In the same way, those who have welcomed me and loved me, will do the same for you. Love one another as I commanded you, rejoice in the Holy Light, remain within me. If you ask of the Light anything in my name I will do it for you so that the glory of the Holy Light will be revealed.”

 

Then Jeshua paused for a moment as though listening to a voice only he could hear. “It’s time for us to go.” He then said, rising from his stool.

 

At his cue, stunned and emotional as those with him were at Jeshua’s words, they all stood up and prepared to leave, though they didn’t know where he intended to bring them.

 

In the commotion of preparing to leave, Jeshua discreetly came over to Judah’s side and whispered to him, “The lady has come. Do what you intend to do.”

 

Surprise came to Judah’s face when Jeshua spoke to him, and then the panic of one having been discovered. Judah did not answer one word, though as he looked into the teacher’s knowing eyes. It was then that the older man realized that he had concealed nothing from the younger one. The teacher had known all along. Rather than responding with a denial they both knew was pointless, his face became stony and impassive, and then he nodded almost professionally to the teacher, and perhaps with some regret in his expression, as though he might have said, _It’s nothing personal, just business_. Slipping around the others, he made his way to the door and left before almost anyone else knew what was happening.

 

“Shan’do, where is Judah going?” Syloren asked him, the only one who noticed. “He shouldn’t be walking the streets without us.”

 

“He has business to attend to. Pay him no mind.” Jeshua responded, though his own face looked extremely sad as he said it.

 

The air outside within the city was chilled and moist. A fog had rolled in that evening off of the lake directly to the south of the city. Those who did not have cloaks or coats upon entering the city had been provided them by the owner of the apartment they had finished supper in. When these were donned, they left the apartment, not knowing where Jeshua was taking them.

 

Jeshua led them away from the newly restored housing in the old trade district south to a section of the wall that was crumbling, and from which one might get a view of Lordamere Lake. The lake itself was more of a huge inland sea which stretched from the cliffs upon which sat the ruins of Lordaeron south and west to the hills and woods of Silverpine Forest, and then east, backing up against Hillsbrad and the Alterac Mountains. Several islands dotted the interior of the lake, the largest of which, Fenris Isle, held a fortified stonework stronghold. The lake was so large, standing on one side of it, one could barely see the other. But from up high where they were, most of the time, the entire lake could be seen in all its natural beauty. The fog that night obscured part of it, but even then much of it could still be seen.

 

Here, Jeshua had them sit down and told them somewhat cryptically, “Wait here for the while and spend time in prayer to the Light for tonight. There is something I need to do.”

 

“Yeah, of course, Captain.” Jim responded, taking note of Jeshua’s tone and expression. “Just don’t wander too far on us, okay?”

 

Jeshua smiled sadly in response to him, and then turned to head back towards the interior of the city, the fog eventually hiding him from view.

 

“What was that about?” Mathaius asked. “I’m worried for him.”

 

“We all are, Mathaius. I don’t know what he’s about, but he asked us to wait here and pray, and that’s what we’re going to do.” Jim replied, and then slowly got down on his own knees. “At least for now.” He then added.

 

Jeshua himself walked slowly back into the city alone, privately communing with the Light as he did. “Sire,” he whispered as he walked, his whole body beginning to shake, and not from the chill in the air, “I don’t want to go through this. If there’s any other way to do this, please let that happen instead.”

 

He continued to walk. The Holy Light within him was ever present, but strangely silent, as if to say, _There isn’t._

 

Whoever and whatever Jeshua may have been, he was also a mortal human. His Sire had informed him of what needed to happen, and what he had been brought into the city to do months before. Now that the time was upon him, his mortal humanity’s desire to live began to assert itself.

 

 _It must be your choice, my son._ He felt the Light within him tell him.

 

It always had been his choice he knew, just as much as he knew that he would see it through tonight. “Sire, if there isn’t any way to avoid this and still bring about your reign on Azeroth, then I will submit to your will.” He then whispered.

 

His bare palms felt sweaty and clammy, and his stomach was clenched and nauseous, but he continued to walk forwards, step by step, foot by foot, through the fog.

 

“Hold!” He heard a raspy, unnatural voice call out, and he stopped where he was.

 

Four men wearing the armor of Deathguards stepped from the fog. As they drew closer, he could see that their flesh was rotting and tattered, and their eyes were those of corpses. These were undead soldiers that had stopped him. Strangely, that knowledge set him at ease right at that moment.

 

“I recognize you.” The guard told him drawing up to him. “You’re the one they call Jeshua Lightborn, aren’t you?” He asked.

 

“Yes, I am.” Jeshua replied.

 

“Don’t you usually travel with others? Where are they tonight?” The soldier asked, looking behind Jeshua as though they too might emerge from the fog.

 

“Elsewhere, praying.” Jeshua answered. It was honest, just not detailed.

 

The soldier looked at him quizzically. Then when it didn’t seem like he was going to get any further explanation he told the human, “The Dark Lady wants a word with you, preacher. You are to come with us.”

 

“Of course, I’d be happy to speak with her.” Jeshua replied.

 

“Follow me.” The Deathguard told him.

 

The undead soldiers led him back through the city, past the doors to the cathedral which now stood wide open welcoming everyone, light perpetually shining within that no one appeared to be able to extinguish since Jeshua had cleansed it. They led him past the old trade district and through several archways until they reached the main courtyard of the city’s ruins.

 

Jeshua walked with them freely. This had been a conversation he had been expecting, and one he had been hoping for as well.

 

They led him down ancient stone steps and across the cemetery like grassy yard around the perpetually closed wooden gate into the base of what must have been a bell house. Jeshua noted the enormous, engraved bronze bell which had crashed into the stonework beneath it and embedded itself. Past this was another, narrow passage like courtyard decorated with statuary on either side that, whether by time’s cruel passage or by intention, had been decapitated and never restored. They continued to lead him into the great domed building that he had initially seen upon entering the city. He knew the one behind it to be the cathedral, but this one had been the royal throne room.

 

“The queen waits for you in there, preacher. She has commanded to speak to you alone. Glory to Sylvanas.” The Deathguard told him as he brought him up to the entry of the cylindrical chamber.

 

Motioning to his fellow soldiers, the armored corpses then took up stations just outside the entry way to the throne room, not daring to venture inside.

 

“Light be with you.” Jeshua replied in a blessing to the guards, and then stepped into the unused, darkened chamber.

 

“Does the darkness bother you, Jeshua? I understand you have a talent for bringing light to places such as this.” A cold, otherworldly feminine voice asked him from the shadows. Across the chamber, Jeshua could see two glowing eyes piercing through the veil of darkness, watching him.

 

“Darkness is only the absence of Light, Sylvanas.” Jeshua replied, coming closer to her, then stopping in the center of the room, directly under the center of the dome. Beneath him, the seal of the kingdom of Lordaeron still stood unmolested by time or mortal hands. “The Light wants to fill that void with itself no matter where it may be found.”

 

“I understand my own people welcomed you like a king, Jeshua. Is that what you want? To be king over them?” She asked, her tone icy and accusatory. “I know who you are, and who your ancestors were.”

 

“I’m not here to rule a mortal kingdom, no matter who it’s made up of.” Jeshua replied.

 

“But you are, in fact a king then? You are making a claim to this very throne?” She asked, and then the red glowing eyes rose in the dark until they were nearly eye level with him across the room. “The throne I myself sit on.” A deadly edge entered her voice as she spoke.

 

“The Light has no need of this throne, Sylvanas. The kingdom it is looking to rule has nothing to do with politics or borders, or land for that matter. If the throne is comfortable for you, the Light has no objection to your remaining on it.” Jeshua told her calmly in response. “The Light would give it to you freely.”

 

The owner of the red eyes then approached him where he stood, and her hooded, armored, undead feminine form came into shadowy shape as she came to stand mere inches from him. Her expression was unreadable. The clawed metal gauntlets she wore on both hands scraped against each other menacingly.

 

“Why are you here, Jeshua? Why are you in these ruins? I left you alone in Hearthglen with the Paladins there. I even permitted those you cured to return to their lives. Why come here if not to turn those humans against me and seize the throne of your ancestors?” She asked him. The edge had left her voice, but there was a menace to the question nonetheless. “Why risk my wrath?”

 

“The Light cares for you, Sylvanas.” He told her. “I was sent to tell you that.”

 

“The Light?” Her still attractive, undead face twisted into a laugh which could have sent chills down the spine of the bravest warrior. “Look around you! Look at me! The Light abandoned us, human, decades ago! It wasn’t the Light which freed these people from the Lich King’s grasp, but me!”

 

“And who was it that you think freed you?” Jeshua asked quietly in response.

 

“I did.” She replied, though the certainty began to wane in her voice as she looked into Jeshua’s eyes, which suddenly appeared to fill with a gently glowing radiance.

 

Jeshua shook his head. “You were never strong enough to escape Arthas on your own, child. I saw that. Had his power not been checked, there would be nothing left alive on Azeroth. I weakened him and wore him down until he fled to Northrend, unable to keep control over any of you. I led you to your body, though you did not know me as such.”

 

Sylvanas stared into his light filled eyes in disbelief at him, “Impossible, fool. You weren’t even a glint in your mother’s eye when Arthas tore across this land.”

 

“I existed before Azeroth came into being, Sylvanas. You know who it is that speaks to you.” Jeshua told her.

 

Sylvanas then backed away from Jeshua, the light in his eyes appearing to penetrate deep into her soul still chained to her corpse. A shudder went through her body. “Who are you, Jeshua Lightborn?” She asked in a whisper, something akin to fear tinging her voice.

 

“Someone who has cared very deeply for you for a long, long time.” He responded.

 

“If that was so, why did you permit any of this to happen at all?” She questioned.

 

“Mortals must make their own choices. Arthas made his, you made yours. There are always consequences to choices that are made. Good choices bring help and healing, evil ones hurt everyone around you. I heal and restore life, but I do not interfere with the choices that you make, and I still will not.” Jeshua told her.

 

“What is it that you want from me then?” She nearly screamed at him, the pain of her undeath feeding her emotions, anger rising as she spoke. “I didn’t ask for what I am now! I didn’t ask Arthas or anyone to force this on me!”

 

“It isn’t what I want from you, Sylvanas, it’s what I want to give to you, but it must be your choice to accept it.” He told her. “I won’t force it upon you or upon anyone. You must come to me willingly.”

 

“And sacrifice everything in return?” She returned.

 

“Only if that is what it takes. I ask only to return to you what was stolen from you, not to take what you cling to.” Jeshua told her. “Whether you choose to follow me after that is up to you.”

 

“You dream much, Jeshua.” Sylvanas told him. “Tell me this then, did Nathanos accept this free gift of yours?”

 

Her voice was hard when she asked it, almost mocking, but Jeshua could hear the sincere question behind it.

 

“He did.” Jeshua replied. “He hoped you would join him.”

 

“Where is he? I would see him.” She asked, a small flame lit in her eyes.

 

“He went home. He is waiting for you to come for him there.” Jeshua told her.

 

 _Damn him!_ She thought, feelings and emotions she had thought dead within her erupted like a volcano as she understood the full import of his words. _Damn them both!_

 

“Leave me, Jeshua.” She then told him, her voice wracked with things she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

 

“If that is your choice.” He said, his voice saddened as he turned away from her towards the open doorway back to the courtyards.

 

Sylvanas herself then turned towards another opening which led down to the royal family’s mausoleum behind and underneath the throne room. They both walked away from each other.

 

And then Sylvanas turned and said behind him, “Remember me, Jeshua, if you ever find your Kingdom of Light.”

 

He then turned and told her, “Sylvanas, you will join me there in paradise. I promise you.”

 

Surprised at his answer, she could only respond, “Perhaps.”

 

Then she turned again to head down in the mausoleum which led to the true city underground.

 

Jeshua also turned to head towards the doorway back to the courtyard. As he passed through the doorway, he noticed that the four Deathguards remained where they had taken up stations, but there was something very different about them. He turned to look into the eyes of one of them, and found sapphire blue eyes looking back at him. Living eyes.

 

“This is your time to act.” Jeshua then told the Deathguard.

 

“Lord Greymane sends his regards, Jeshua Lightborn.” The guard responded, and then his entire form erupted in muscular fur and fangs.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

 

In the Ruins of Lordaeron…

 

“I don’t like this. He’s been gone too long.” Thaddeus said aloud, speaking to others.

 

Jeshua’s followers had done what he asked. They had stayed put where they were on the grassy cliffs overlooking Lake Lordamere in the south of the ruined city. Time however had been dragging on without him, and the air felt colder and the night darker as it did. The fog had become thicker as the temperature decreased as well.

 

“He should have come back for us by now.” The former assassin said again.

 

“It’s a large city, both above and below ground, and we don’t know what business he had to attend to.” Amerian replied. “Maybe he went to meet up with Judah?” There was a hopeful question in his voice, but even as he said it, the Night Elf scribe had trouble believing it himself. The Scarlet Crusade Priest had largely kept to himself.

 

Jim Jacobson had been attempting to pray on his knees, just as Jeshua had instructed them, but the same thoughts had been running through his mind as well over and over again. _How long has it been? Hours?_ The truth was he had no pocket watch he could have used to tell the time, but his own sailor’s experience and instincts told him it had been several hours, and it was approaching midnight. Finally, his joints sore he got to his feet, blood rushing back into his lower legs, and looked at the others.

 

He agreed with Thaddeus Jude. “Thaddeus‘s right, the Captain should’ve come back by now.” He added. “I don’t like this at all. It’s got a bad feel to it, like somethin’ ain’t right.”

 

“So then what should we do? What if we go looking for him and then he comes back to find us and we’re not here?” Amerian asked, addressing Jim.

 

“Syloren, Peter, Andrew, you boys come with me. We’ll head back into the city and check the cathedral and a few other places. The rest of you wait here. If he comes back, tell him old Jim got worried.” Jim told them. “He’ll give me a lecture on faith, but that’s okay as long as he’s safe.”

 

The former Demon Hunter and the two fishermen from Menethil Harbor then stood up from where they had been kneeling as well and went to join the old sailor where he had risen from his own aching knees and painfully prickling legs. The four of them then headed off in the direction which Jeshua had gone.

 

* * *

 

Jeshua’s face was bruised and bleeding. One eye was swollen shut. A twisted crown made of thorny branches from a bramble bush had been forced onto his head, the thorns piercing his scalp forming a ring of matted blood around his light reddish hair. One of his Worgen tormentors had found the thorn bush growing nearby and thought it would add just the right touch to the display they wanted to create.

 

He lay naked and bleeding from dozens of rips and tears in his flesh made by Worgen claws on the cold stone pavement in the narrow entry yard where the headless white marble statuary stood. Tremendous, burning pain shot through his entire body as his life’s blood dripped slowly out of him.

 

Jeshua had said nothing more when the Gilnean agents had taken him. What they had done with the Forsaken guards who had previously been there he could only guess at, though he was certain that their long undeaths had ended. One of the four Worgen stood watch at one end of the long passage, and the other stood watch at the entry to the throne room. Few people tended to use this passage into the true Undercity frequently, but those that did so tonight would find themselves torn apart by nightmarish fangs and claws. They could afford no witnesses just yet. Lord Greymane had left explicit instructions, neither he nor the Alliance could be implicated in any way.

 

They bound his hands and feet, and then tore his robe and clothes apart with their sharp claws and left his body naked and shivering in the cold. They then had beaten him and torn into his flesh, shredding it carefully in places with their claws so that it looked like he had been beaten with scourges and whipped. Their deception had to be convincing for the rest of the city’s populace. The Worgen agents had tormented him slowly in this way for several hours, no emotion on their expressions except for a certain, grim professionalism.

 

“What do you think?” One raspy, lupine voice belonging to a dark Worgen with Jet black fur and obsidian eyes asked his comrade. “Is it enough to convince them?”

 

“Almost. We need to display him somewhere publicly, and make sure they believe the Banshee Queen ordered it.” The other tormentor, a creature with lighter brown and gray fur like a timber wolf replied. “Those were Lord Greymane’s instructions.”

 

“I don’t get why he thought this guy was such a threat, Rosencrantz. He didn’t even put up a fight.” The first one observed. “It’s a shame really. He's not much more than a kid.”

 

“I don’t ask those kind of questions, and neither should you, Guildenstern.” The second one said. “We’re paid to follow orders, not do the thinking. That’s for the handlers and higher ups.”

 

The lighter furred one then produced a heavy hammer and long, thick iron nails from a rucksack he had nearby. “Here, I stole these from the new building that’s going on. I’ve got a good idea that should get their attention. With any luck, the whole city will be aware of it before the Banshee Queen herself. Collect some of that blood on the ground in something. We can use it.”

 

“For what?” The black furred one questioned.

 

“To write with.” The other one responded. He then called to his comrade who was watching the courtyard, “Are we clear?”

 

The Gilnean agent watching the main courtyard, still in human form, nodded and called back, “Clear.”

 

Rosencrantz then took Jeshua by the arm and liften his whole, bound body roughly onto his shoulder. “Hardly weighs anything either.” He commented. “Let’s get this done and clear out.”

 

The gray and brown furred Worgen then took Jeshua out into the main courtyard, followed by the jet black furred one carrying a small container of Jeshua’s blood which he had scooped up, and the rucksack where Rosencrantz had returned the hammer and nails. The human form Gilnean watching the throne room entrance then followed behind, walking backwards to ensure that they weren’t seen or followed.

 

They went through the smaller open archways into the courtyard. Rosencrantz carried Jeshua around to the large, heaven wooden door and then roughly dumped him onto the ground. Taking out a dagger, he cut the cords with which he had bound Jeshua’s feet and wrists. They loosened and fell to the overgrown paving limply.

 

“For… Forgive… them, Sire.” The Worgen could hear the man fighting to say the words, even as his voice was weak and his breathing shallow. “They don’t… they don’t know… they don’t know...” But he couldn’t finish his sentence he was so weak.

 

Rosencrantz paused for a minute to examine the human. The agent didn’t really care if he was alive or dead, but his dying words haunted the Gilnean as he spoke them. _Really is a shame._ He thought to himself. _Doesn't seem like such a bad kid._ He then continued to work, knowing that they were in more danger than ever of discovery as exposed as they were.

 

The Worgen then took the hammer and nails out of the rucksack and called to Guildenstern, “Here, help me with this. Hold his wrist up here.”

 

The black Worgen hauled Jeshua’s right arm up against the upper third of the door near the edge, jerking his whole body with it so hard that the shoulder dislocated as the creature held Jeshua’s wrist. Rosencrantz then took a nail and drove it with the hammer through the wrist and into the heavy wood of the door, the blows from the hammer echoing off the stone walls of the courtyard.

 

“Not so loud!” Guildenstern chided him. “You want the whole city to hear us and come running?”

 

“You want to do this?” Rosencrantz asked him sarcastically. “I can’t help it if hammers are loud when they hit. Just give me his other wrist and let’s finish this quickly. I want to get out of this undead cesspool as soon as possible.”

 

The black worgen grabbed Jeshua’s other wrist and stretched it across the door as far as he could, jerking it to dislocate the other shoulder. He held the arm in place while the gray and brown one hammered the second nail in. Then, with Jeshua’s upper body secured on the old wooden door, they placed both of his feet together, one on top of the other with the toes just barely touching the ground, and drove a third nail through them both and into the door.

 

“Here, hand me the blood.” Rosencrantz told Guildenstern as he withdrew a large, rolled up piece of vellum and a writing quill from an inner pocket. He then unrolled the blank sheet and, taking the vial of blood, he dipped the pen into it and began to write as neatly as he could with his bestial hand.

 

“Careful, it has to look official.” Guildenstern told him. “Like a scribe wrote it. Did you bring some kind of a seal or anything?”

 

“No. Didn’t have the time to get one made, and I don’t know what the Banshee's personal seal looks like anyway. It doesn’t matter. This should work just fine. Hand me another couple of nails, the smaller ones in the bag.” Rosencrantz replied.

 

He tacked the freshly inscribed vellum up onto the top of the door above Jeshua’s head with two smaller nails. It was written neatly in blood, “By order of Sylvanas Windrunner, Jeshua Menethil, Royal Heir of Lordaeron, has been executed. Glory to the Banshee Queen.”

 

“Menethil?” Guildenstern asked. “Where’d you come up with that?”

 

“Weren’t you listening to what was said in there?” Rosencrantz asked. “Sylvanas herself practically said it.”

 

“JESHUA!!!” A pained human voice cried loudly out behind them.

 

“Damn!” The lighter furred Worgen said as he spun around. All the Gilneans turned to see three humans and a Night Elf staring at them in horror and shock from an archway in a side passage into the courtyard from their right. Quickly, he pulled out his long dagger again, saying, “We need to finish this now!” He thrust the dagger into Jeshua’s right side and shoved it up until it pierced the dying man’s heart. It didn’t matter to him if Jeshua lived or died, but he needed to eliminate his witness to their presence as well.

 

“Don’t just stand there!” Guildenstern told the other two agents who had shifted to their true, Worgen forms. “Kill them!! They can’t be allowed to tell anyone what they saw!”

 

Having heard the Worgen’s instructions, the four men ran back through the corridor as fast as they could, the Worgen agents, fangs snapping, chased after them.

 

“We leave, now!” Rosencrantz told Guildenstern. They quickly packed up the rucksack and any other evidence of their presence, returned to their human forms in the Deathguard armor, and disappeared through the unguarded front gate of the city into the night, heading to a predetermined meeting point outside of the city walls to wait for their companions.

 

* * *

 

In the Undercity…

 

Sylvanas had debated her conversation with Jeshua within herself for hours as she walked the paths of the lower sewers that had become the true capital for the Forsaken. Had she tears in her dead tear ducts, they might have spilled over her gray cheeks, but as it was, her face was dry, though her expression was clearly distraught.

 

The Undercity was laid out in concentric rings. The central ring was a wide circular shaft with alcoves and catwalks originally built to handle the water flow and offal from the city’s surface in happier, more lively times. The outer rings were connected by bridges and passageways over underground channels and conduits for the sewage that collected. Deeper still had been the passageway to her own royal chamber protected by her own elite squad of Dreadguards and watched over by Dark Rangers. The undead, undeterred by the perpetual stench or the gloomy darkness of the sewers, had carved out niches and set up shops and personal “homes” in alcoves trying to recreate and restore a semblance of normalcy in their abnormal and unnatural state. It had been one of the ways they had been able to move on and keep going in spite of the horror which had befallen them.

 

The undead denizens in the Undercity’s streets and byways, saluted and bowed to her respectfully as she passed, but none dared to stop her. Inquiring what might have been wrong would have been fatal and they all knew it, even if they had been curious or concerned for their monarch.

 

Finally, she had come to the decision which had been so clearly put before her. Knowing from her spies, where Jeshua had been staying in the city, she had resolved to go to him and do what the other Horde leaders, and Nathanos had encouraged her to do. It was time to leave the Lich King behind.

 

 _It is time I put the final nail in Arthas’ coffin._ She had thought, remembering Lor’themar’s words to her. _I will be free of you once and for all. You will have no more power over me, you bastard._

 

She had ridden the lift back up from the lower quarters of the city to the mausoleum, and had just stepped out into the cold stone passageway intending to head up into the ruins to seek the human preacher. And then she heard the sound of heavy metal striking against metal echoing faintly through the passageway.

 

“What is that?” She asked the huge, grotesque guardians, alarmed at the sound.

 

“Me don’t know, Dark Lady.” The guardian responded. “Sounds loud. Hurt ears.”

 

Her instincts were shouting alarms at her. “Follow me.” She ordered them, instinctively drawing her skeletal spine bow from her back and nocking an arrow.

 

“Yes, Dark Lady.” The massive fleshy guardians both replied in unison and then moved from their stations next to the sliding stone lift door.

 

She moved ahead of them carefully, listening with her trained elven ears, the metal striking metal sound happening again, and then again, getting louder as she approached the crypt where the former king still lay interred. The ringing echoed around the crypt one last time.

 

It was coming from up above, outside, she could hear.

 

“Come.” She ordered them again, and the two undead abominations followed behind wordlessly.

 

And then she heard a man cry out as if his world had ended, “JESHUA!!!”

 

She mentally swore.

 

Without further conscious thought, without further debate, she bolted faster than any human, or any living mortal could through the passageways, through the ancient throne room, taking on the form of a terrifying wraith as she sped through the chambers and out into the open air.

 

When she burst into the main entry courtyard of the city, her hunter’s eyes spied two Worgen running at full speed towards the stone passage which led deeper into the surface ruins. Her hands moved of their own accord as one and then another arrow flew rapid fire towards them, striking both targets square in the backs of their lupine heads where their spines met their skulls.

 

The two Worgen skid to a stop a couple of feet from where they had died, carried forward by their own momentum.

 

“Filthy monsters.” She spat as she surveyed the scene of the courtyard in front of her, stepping from the doorway. Behind her, the guardians struggled to keep up but they eventually reached the courtyard too.

 

She could see no disturbance in the courtyard other than the Worgen infiltrators, taking note that they wore the armor and uniforms of her own soldiers.

 

Turning around slowly to survey the entire courtyard, she then saw the man she had come to talk to. He had been crucified on the old wooden door. She saw the blood, the wounds all over his body, and the fatal one in his side. She knew death when she saw it. It was too old of a friend to not recognize.

 

“NOOOOO!!!!” She cried out herself. Her knees buckled beneath her and she fell to the ground in front of him, catching herself on her hands. “NOOOO!!!!” She cried out in anguish and rage again.

 

“I was coming to you, dammit!” She shouted in anger at the hanging corpse several times before it became a defeated whisper, “I was coming...”

 

She read the words on the vellum over and over again, searing them into her mind. “I didn’t order this.” She said aloud. Then she screamed it into the night, “I DIDN’T ORDER THIS!!! DO YOU HEAR ME!!! I DIDN’T DO THIS!!!”

 

With a violent rage she came back to her feet and tore the damning sign from the door and with her unnatural strength, she ripped the vellum into shreds, taking out her powerlessness on the writing skin until it resembled blooded, leathery confetti. “I didn't order this...” She said again.

 

Those responsible had been Worgen. She had the evidence of it right in front of her lying dead by her own hand on the stone paving and wearing stolen Deathguard armor. They wouldn’t have acted on their own accord, she knew. This had taken planning and someone to plan it. Someone who explicitly wanted her implicated in the death of the man her people owed their new lives to.

 

“Greymane...” She whispered, her eyes glowing with a dangerous red rage. “You son of a bitch.”

 

Then Deathguards and other undead and living citizens came running into the courtyard having heard the shouting and screaming clearly from a far distance into the city. When they saw who it was, they all came to a dead stop. And then they saw what she had reacted to.

 

“He’s dead?” One of her guards asked. “My queen, what happened? Who did this?”

 

Wordlessly, she pointed a clawed finger shaking with hatred at the two dead Worgen, arrows still protruding from the backs of their skulls.

 

Angry voices began to stir among the people who saw what was happening.

 

“Why was no one on patrol here?” She demanded from those in Deathguard uniforms, but none of them could answer her, even though they sensed what life or undeath they had might soon come to an end from their silence.

 

It didn't matter. She imagined the uniforms the Worgen wore had belonged to those guards responsible. They had paid for their failure already.

 

She turned and looked again at Jeshua’s beaten, lifeless body. Her mind raced, unable to accept that she had only just made the decision to have her own salvation from undeath taken from her at the last moment. Who else could give the gift he had offered freely? And then she remembered, _Jeshua's followers..._

 

She then turned sharply again and ordered those guards present, “Find his followers! I want all of them accounted for and protected. Go!!”

 

The soldiers moved on her orders, running back into the city.

 

“What queen want us do?” One of the abominations who had come behind her asked.

 

She turned once more to look at Jeshua, letting every detail burn into her mind down to the nails which pinned him to the door.

 

“Pull the nails out and take him down from the door.” She told them. “Carefully, guardian. I don’t want his body damaged any further.”

 

“Yes, Dark Lady.” The creature responded and proceeded to carry out her request.

 

Then turning to the people that had gathered, she pointed to two strong looking men, one living and one undead, “You and you, find a shovel and dig a grave over there.” Her finger claw pointed to a patch of green grass that appeared to be unoccupied by a grave or a headstone. “Cover his body with a shroud and lay him in the ground for the time being.”

 

“Yes, my queen.” The two men said as one, bowing to her.

 

The truth was she didn’t know what to do with his body now, but just calling a Val’kyr somehow didn’t feel “right” to her, though it was never a question she might have asked before. And if she did, what then? Would his command of the Light remain in undeath or would he be just as trapped as the rest of them? She hadn’t expected to have to make arrangements for the man one way or the other.

 

“I was coming to you, Jeshua.” She said again to the body as the abominations took him down from the door. Her voice was barely a whisper as she said it. “I made my decision.”

 

She stood and watched for the next several hours while they first wrapped the body in a burial shroud, and then dug the shallow grave until she knew dawn was about to break over the eastern horizon. When they had finished, those preparations, they laid the body into the ground, and covered it over with the dirt.

 

A disturbing thought occurring to her, she spied a rectangular piece of fallen masonry in the courtyard easily larger than a full grown man and probably weighing several hundred pounds. She then ordered one of the abominations who still stood next to her, waiting for new instructions, “Take that stone block and place it over the grave when it is completed. I don’t want anyone disturbing the body until I’ve made a final decision on what to do with it.”

 

“Yes, Dark Lady.” The creature told her, and then carried out her instructions.

 

When it was over, she walked over to the new gravesite with its massive, unmarked tombstone and placed her hand on the cold rock. A familiar emotion then took a hold of her, suckled by her anger and hatred, calling to her like a friend; vengeance. She then said, “I didn’t do this to you, Jeshua, but I will destroy those who did. I swear your death won’t be for nothing.”

 

Turning around then, she walked slowly back towards the entryway in the Undercity. She didn’t noticed the unusual threads of light streaking across the ground as she walked. Had she, she would have seen they were coming from the newly finished grave.

 

To the east, the sky began to lighten with streaks of orange, red and gold.

 

Dawn was coming.

 

* * *

 

Elsewhere in the ruins of Lordaeron…

 

Jim had been almost dragged from where he stood motionless by Syloren upon seeing his “Captain’s” dead body hung on the door. But he had run when the others pulled at him. He had run from the monstrous Worgen that his ears had heard had been given instructions to kill them all for what they had seen.

 

What he had seen.

 

He couldn’t process what he had seen, or reconcile it with who he knew the young man to be; what he knew Jeshua to be. He had seen Jeshua’s power again and again, as well as his absolute refusal to use it selfishly. It was one of the most frustrating and one of the best things about the gentle man, and he had taught them all the same.

 

 _Why Jeshua?_ He kept asking himself as he and the three other men ran for their lives through the dilapidated city streets and pathways trying to outrun murderous wolf like pursuers they were certain were after them. _I saw who you are. Why did you let them do that to you?_

 

Finally, on an impulse, the four men made a hard right and dashed through the open doors of the old cathedral. The sanctuary had been empty at that moment. Not knowing where else to attempt to go, they all jumped in between the restored wooden pews and hit the floor so that they couldn’t be seen from the entryway easily.

 

 _You’re going to run away and hide, Jim_. Jeshua’s words came back to haunt him as he hid between the pews from the murderous fanged beasts.

 

“He was right.” Jim whispered, tears coming to his eyes. “He was right about it all. He died, and I ran. I couldn’t do anything to stop it. Holy Light forgive me. Help us please!”

 

The other men said nothing but held where they were, waiting for their would be assassins to come charging through the doors any second.

 

The four men stayed low and quiet for some time, but they heard no one else enter into the old church. After about ten minutes, they then heard the sounds of booted feet coming through the entry way. Their steps struck the stone floor cautiously. All four men went still as the grave.

 

And then a voice called out, “Emissaries of Jeshua, we know you are in here. You were seen by people on the street. Show yourselves.”

 

The voice was a raspy man’s voice with that unnatural, otherworldly quality common to the undead. It was distinctly different from the deep, bestial voice which Jim had heard from Gilnean Worgen he had sailed with in the past. Realizing that this wasn’t one of the monsters who had been ordered to kill them, Jim slowly stood up from where he lay in between the pews.

 

There were six Deathguards in the Cathedral, a mix of both living and dead. Their weapons had not been drawn, but their gauntleted hands stood at the ready to do so at any moment. The man who addressed him had taken his own helment off and held it formally in the crook of his right arm. He then offered a salute to Jim with his left. His hair was a greenish blond, and his skin a sickly gray, and bone was exposed in several places on his face. He might have been handsome once upon a time, before he had died.

 

“By order of the Dark Lady, we are to protect you and your fellow emissaries and escort you to a safe place. Please, sir, come with us.” The soldier said in a professional manner.

 

When the other three men heard the Deathguard’s words, they too slowly rose from their places.

 

Jim looked away for a second trying to understand what was happening. “You’re here to protect us?” He asked as if confused.

 

“Yes, sir, you and your comrades.” The Deathguard responded.

 

“By order of Sylvanas?” Jim asked again, trying to wrap his mind around it.

 

“Yes, sir. The queen commanded it personally after she slew the Worgen responsible for the teacher’s death.” The undead man answered.

 

“She… she killed them? The ones who did it?” Jim was trying to understand past his fear.

 

“Yes, sir. She was very concerned about your safety as well. I understand there are more of you than this. Our orders are to protect all of you if you could help us locate them.” The man told him.

 

“Uh… Uh, yeah. I know where they are.” Jim replied, then remembering the other three men near him. He looked towards them. Expressions of confusion, and some relief covered their faces. “We could bring everybody here tonight, I suppose. The walls are pretty thick I think, and it’s just us right now.”

 

The Deathguard looked around at the light filled sanctuary. His expression showed he was uncomfortable with the thought, but upon inspecting the chamber he concurred it was as safe as any other place above ground might be, and he knew the living couldn’t stomach the Undercity for very long. “Very good, sir. I will leave men here to guard the door until we return.”

 

Jim then told him where to find the others and Syloren went with them just in case.

 

* * *

Around Azeroth…

 

The tendrils of light which streamed out from where Jeshua had been buried continued to flow unabated across the ground and through the deep soil and rock of Azeroth itself, penetrating and consecrating the ground through which it moved. It raced through and around the ruins of Lordaeron and plunged deep through the earth and the stonework of the Undercity, surrounding it and filling it with golden, Holy Light. The streams of light began to grow like a flood from the burial site until the entire perimeter of the city was bathed in radiant glory.

 

But the Light’s march did not stop there.

 

Streams of light raced across the fields and forests of Tirisfal Glades, down into Silverpine Forest, and east from the western borders of of the Plaguelands until the eastern sea beyond them and north up into Quel’Thalas. The Light continued to flow unchecked and increasing in intensity until all of the northeastern subcontinent was bathed in its pure, Holy, healing grace.

 

And then the Light continued to flow stretching across Azeroth and deep into the planet, seeking out the immortal being whom rock and earth had settled around in her eternal sleep, and who had so recently been wounded by the demon Sargeras’ blade, Azeroth herself. In Silithus, on the other side of the planet, the great miles high sword which had been buried in the planet’s side began to crack and glow with overwhelming golden white Light, and then it shattered, exploding into countless pieces which then vaporized in the purging Holy Fire. The wound in the desert then began to close as the healing energies of the Light gently sealed it.

 

In Duskwood, deep in the south, the perpetually darkened forests came alive again as the Light flooded through. In the Plaguelands, the foul reddish orange mist vaporized and burned off in the power of the purging Holy Light. In Pandaria, the scars of war and haunting shas which had still plagued many parts of it were purged and renewed. Across their world, new growth and fresh green life began to grow where shadow magic and decades of war had taken their toll.

 

And everywhere the Light went, on either humanoid or beast, undead skin began to mend, hearts began to beat, blood began to flow, and muscles and sinews were restored. From one end of Azeroth to the other, whether Forsaken, Scourge, or hapless plagued animals.

 

High up at the peak of Icecrown Citadel, Bolvar Fordragon who had taken the crown of the Lich King in secret suddenly found himself removing it, the crown itself being purged of its hellish power and reduced to nothing more than cold metal. The Death Knights of Ebon Hold, many of whom had once been Paladins devoted to the Light found themselves wrapped in it as it purged the death magic and quickened their hearts once more. In the Broken Isles, and various parts of Azeroth, Demon Hunters, having once given up all hope of living a normal life again and only waiting to lose control to their inner demons, erupted in cleansing Holy Light which purged the demonic blood from their beings and restored their natural forms. What demons who remained on Azeroth after the Legion war too found themselves consumed by Holy Flames until only ashes were left where they stood in the Broken Isles, Desolace, and dark corners of Ashenvale and the Eastern Kingdoms.

 

The Holy Light found and enveloped them all hungrily in its radiant, healing glory until the entire world was consumed in its awesome power.

 

And deep in the Undercity, an elven queen found herself gently ravished, driven to her knees by the all consuming Holy Presence as the color returned to her no longer gray skin, her eyes lost their reddish glow and returned to their natural, living deep blue mana tinged color. Deep within her chest, she felt a “thump”, and then another one, and then another one.

 

Quickly she removed the clawed gauntlets she wore and looked at her slender, feminine elven hands, calloused only from her years of mastery with the bow. They were a pinkish white in color, and felt warm, even to her. She touched her face with her two fingers and found her cheeks wet, the saltwater coming from her eyes.

 

She was alive.

 

And a still small voice spoke to her through the Holy Light which enveloped her saying, _I remember you, Sylvanas Windrunner. I have never forgotten you._

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

 

In Stormwind the following day…

 

King Anduin Wrynn sat stunned on his throne in Stormwind Keep as report after report of miraculous transformations around the world kept pouring in throughout the day from SI:7, his commanders in the field, governors, mayors, and other Alliance leaders. Surrounding him were advisors and spymasters funneling the information to him as it came following the mysterious flash of light that appeared to envelope the globe around dawn that morning.

 

The first report had come from Duskwood just after the king’s morning devotions to the Light, and before breakfast. It was the name given to the southern reaches of Elwynn Forest which had been plagued with feral Worgen and mindless undead for decades. Reports came in earlier in the morning shortly after dawn broke that the darkness and black fog which had settled over the land had suddenly disappeared. Not long after, people who had gone missing there over the years and been presumed dead started wandering into the town of Darkshire looking lost and confused, but alive and whole.

 

The next report he had received had come from Nethergarde Keep in the region now known as “the Blasted Lands”. When Anduin’s father Varian had been a child, the whole region had been known as “the Black Morass”, a huge swampy marsh that extended from the southern foothills of the Redridge mountains all the way south to the coastline. It had been turned to a dry, demon infested, hellish desert after the opening of the Dark Portal during the first invasion. The walled fortress had originally been built atop a plateau overlooking the Blasted Lands to watch against further incursions through the cursed gateway. Just after breakfast, Anduin received the report of a radical transformation from the Keep’s commander. The marshes had returned overnight. The keep now looked out over a canopy of tree tops which had not been there the day before. From preliminary overflights by Gryphon riders, the marshes stretched far and wide to their original, natural boundaries. None of the demons which had still infested the southernmost regions of the territory that the Keep’s troops had kept track of could be seen.

 

After that it became a constant flow of new reports, all absolutely unbelievable.

 

Dalaran reported that the island known as the Broken Shore in the north had been completely cleansed of the fel, and new growth and wildlife were seen all over the shatterred landscape. The same was true of regions in Azsuna and Suramar on the main island north of there where there had been known enclaves of Legion holdouts. No trace of the demon invaders could be found.

 

Reports came into Stormwind from the Silver Hand controlled Light’s Hope Chapel. Riders had been sent out across the Plaguelands after the regular patrols around dawn had reported the lands in the north being bathed in radiant light. Within seconds afterwards the landscape had been fully restored as if the Plague had never occurred. Like in Duskwood, whole communities of people all over the plaguelands which had been presumed lost to the Scourge had suddenly reappeared. In Corrin’s Crossing not far from Light’s Hope, once infested by mindless undead Scourge, hundreds of humans were found in the town wondering what had happened to them. Throughout all the western reaches of Lordaeron and up into southern Quel’Thalas, the landscape had been changed and restored, the Elven nation’s lands having been returned to their natural beauty. Another report spoke of whole towns of Quel’Dorei elves long thought lost to the Scourge beginning to flood the roads to Silvermoon looking for answers. The city of Stratholme’s populace had also been miraculously fully restored as though the plague of undeath had never occurred.

 

The Dark Shore, Bloodmyst Isle, Felwood, the undead, Demon Hunters, even Death Knights! Every square inch of Azeroth had been reached by the cleansing and healing and it appeared that no one had been left unaffected in some way. Even in the dry red, Orc held desert of Durotar, SI:7 had seen new growth bloom and grow rapidly with no explanation.

 

But the single biggest surprise which had crossed his path came after his mid day meal, when a report came to him from Silithus. The sword of Sargeras which had been driven into the side of the world by the fallen Titan before his imprisonment had completely disappeared, and the deep scar it had created in Azeroth’s surface had mended itself so that no trace of it remained. Flowers and new grasses had bloomed and grown across the Silithid wasteland.

 

He had gone to sleep the night before praying to the Divine Light that a way might be found to prevent what was an increasingly inevitable war, and had woken up the next morning to see all of Azeroth transformed and healed.

 

And then the report came from Agent Shadowmore up in Chillwind Camp. Their agents in Andorhal reported that there were no more undead Forsaken in the city. The entire city was filled with living humans. The same was true of the reports from SI:7’s agents stationed near the ruins of Lordaeron and the Forsaken town of Brill. After the “dawn event”, as Anduin came to think of it, the entire population of Tirisfal Glades had been cured of their undeath overnight.

 

No, the entire population of _Lordaeron._ The ravages inflicted upon that land to the north by Arthas and the Scourge had somehow been completely erased.

 

“Miracles! Today is a day of miracles like this world has never seen.” Anduin told his friend and mentor for several years, Lord Greymane who had not left the young king’s side the entire day. “Do you know what this means?”

 

Lord Greymane’s face displayed none of the joy or wonder at it all that Anduin had felt throughout the morning. He had often urged caution at believing the reports, suggesting prudence at the wild tales until Stormwind could send more people to verify them. The truth was, he had looked frustrated, and even angry every time a new report had come in. His face darkened significantly when the reports from Horde controlled territory in Lordaeron had been handed to the young king.

 

When the older man didn’t answer, but read the report himself several times before handing it back to the king, Anduin grew more concerned. “You act as though a great tragedy had befallen us, Genn, instead of the great healing of our world which has taken place.”

 

“I am concerned about the consequences it will have for this world, and the plans which have been drawn up.” Lord Greymane replied, his voice carefully controlled. “It could change everything.”

 

“That is what I am hoping for, my friend.” Anduin replied to him, eyeing the older man suspiciously. “That is what I have been praying for since my father died. We can’t launch an invasion now, not until we’ve attempted to contact Sylvanas and discover what has happened to them. I won’t take life that has just been restored needlessly. It would be an abomination to the Holy Light.”

 

Lord Greymane spoke through clenched teeth, “Yes... your majesty.”

 

* * *

 

In the Shadowlands…

 

Jeshua found his soul standing in what appeared to be the courtyard of Lordaeron’s ruins. Everything appeared gray and lifeless. All was silent. Around him, vaguely humanoid, translucent shapes moved oblivious to each other’s presence. Not far from him, he could make out two of these that appeared like Worgen, but they, like the others, looked lost and confused. He took a moment to get his bearings at his new surroundings. There was no sun or moon or stars in the unnatural gray sky above. He looked at his own hands, they appeared to be made of a golden light different from the spirits around him, and each wrist bore a gaping cylindrical wound that penetrated all the way through. He felt no pain of any kind however, neither did he feel any sensations whatsoever from his surroundings.

 

He was dead, he understood, and in the realm known to Azeroth’s people as “the Shadowlands”.

 

It was exactly where he had expected to be. It was where he had planned on being all along.

 

Jeshua took one step, and then another, his ghostly feet passing over the white gray ground though they made no noise. He approached one of the Worgen ghosts, knowing well the Gilnean agent’s recent past and involvement in Jeshua’s own death.

 

He placed his own golden, light filled hand onto the Worgen’s ghostly frame. The creature’s spirit then turned its head to look at him, it’s wolfish eyes appearing sad and lost.

 

Jeshua then spoke through the ghostly realm to the Worgen and said, “I forgive you, be at peace. Be welcomed into the Light.”

 

A look of confusion passed over the Worgen’s lupine features, and then comprehension. The Worgen, gratitude in its eyes gave Jeshua a heartfelt salute with his fist against his chest, and a slight bow to him. Then, his spirit began to shine with Light, and then it became one with the Light.

 

Jeshua moved to the other Worgen, and repeated the same thing. That Worgen too, was grateful for his undeserved gift and entered into union with the Holy Light.

 

But Jeshua’s work was not finished.

 

There were countless others here in various states of regret, pain, or forgetful oblivion. No, his work was not done yet. In that timeless realm, he began to move from soul to soul, lost spirit to lost spirit, laying hands on each one of them and pronouncing forgiveness and absolution for whatever wrongs they may have committed in life. The Light shone again and again within the Shadowlands as Jeshua continued his mission he began in life, moving at the speed of light itself.

 

Quickly, the Shadowlands were emptied of the mortal souls that had collected there, wandering and lost, over Azeroth’s eons of existence regardless of who they had been or what they had done in life, made one with the Holy Light who had impossibly found a way to bring their redemption and salvation to them even there. The Light called each one of them home to itself.

 

* * *

 

In the Ruins of Lordaeron…

 

Sylvanas Windrunner stood in the full, glorious sunlight in the entry courtyard next to the great stone block that marked Jeshua’s grave. Her imperial purple ranger’s hood had been drawn down, and her exquisite, living elven beauty had been exposed for the whole world to see, her long platinum blond hair flowing down from her scalp like a golden waterfall. Her clawed gauntlets lay at her feet, her bare hands extended near her waist palms up. The clouds which had covered Tirisfal Glades had dissippated, and the late morning sun was warm on her skin as she allowed it to soak into every fiber of her being, basking in its light.

 

And she was not the only one. All over the ruined capital, the people who had once feared the sun and any expression of light for the pain it would cause them stepped out into the light of day and reveled in it.

 

Then, after a time she hadn’t kept count of she turned to the stone block she had ordered placed over Jeshua’s grave, and put her bare hand to the cool stone, barely warmed by the sun she had been enjoying. And then remembering what her newfound life had cost, as she knew it was no coincidence, she wept openly and said, “Thank you, Jeshua. Thank you for remembering me and not giving up on me. Thank you for not abandoning us. Thank you. I promise your gift will not be wasted. The whole world will know what you did for us. I swear it.”

 

Elsewhere, the emissaries of Jeshua had not slept as they waited for more word in Lordaeron’s Cathedral. But when all of them had been brought to the sacred place by the Deathguards they had been told of what had happened to their teacher and friend by those who had seen it. Later, they had been informed that Sylvanas had ordered the body buried and left undisturbed, setting a guard around the grave site to ensure it.

 

Afraid, in pain, and deeply grieving, they sat in the pews and had attempted to comfort one another until dawn.

 

And then the Light within the cathedral intensified, and the undead guards who had been watching over them spontaneously filled with light and were radically transformed into living human beings. They looked to each other, but no one had any idea of who could have performed it.

 

“What just happened to me?” The Deathguard asked as he fell to his knees at the shock of the change within him.

 

Slowly, Amerian approached him to help him. “You’ve been cured my friend, though I don’t know how. None of us were near you.”

 

“But… but… I didn’t ask for it.” He said, though his tone of voice was overwhelmed with gratitude. “I didn’t think there was any hope the Light would help some nobody like me.”

 

“Did you want it done for you?” Amerian asked, trying to understand what had happened.

 

“Who among the Forsaken hasn’t dreamed of it?” The guard responded, his voice choking with emotion. “What fool wouldn’t want his life back?”

 

* * *

 

In Stormwind the next day…

 

Anduin stood in the throne room that morning just after dawn. His usually clean shaven face now bore the beginnings of golden haired beard growth a day old. He had not been given the chance to bath or freshen up since twenty-four hours before for all that was happening. Bags were under his eyes for the lack of sleep he had gotten the night before, but he had not complained. The reasons for the sleepless night kept coming in as the world wide picture came into view. In spite of his haggard appearance, he could have danced at the news he received.

 

Then, a guard came up to where he stood. The king had been still reading yet more reports eagerly as the extent of the transformation was more fully known. It had been a true miracle and he hadn’t wanted to miss a moment of it. Lord Greymane was elsewhere at present, though the king did not know where.

 

“Your majesty, there is a strange messenger come to see you under a flag of truce.” The guard informed him. “He is human, but he bears the colors of the Forsaken.”

 

 _I didn’t know we were yet at war to need a truce_. Anduin thought to himself, disturbed but resigned to the thought. _And after everything that has just occurred._

 

“Send him in. I will hear the message.” Anduin instructed the guard.

 

Minutes later, a single human man with well groomed, red blond hair, dressed in a well fitting, clean suit and wearing the purple and black tabard colors of the Forsaken was brought to stand before him.

 

“Your majesty. I bring a message from the Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, Queen of Lordaeron, and Warchief of the Horde, to you and to your people.” The messenger said.

 

Many in the throne room scoffed at the title the Banshee Queen had given herself, but Anduin raised his hand for quiet, and addressed the man, “What is this message Sylvanas wishes to give me?”

 

The messenger then pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment and broke the seal to unravel it. He then began to read so that the entire throne room could hear.

 

“Her majesty says, ‘To Anduin Wrynn, King of Stormwind, and to all of the Alliance. Due to recent events which have transpired, the Kingdom of Lordaeron, and the Horde, would like to open up diplomatic talks with the Kingdom of Stormwind, and the Alliance, to find a way resolve our differences and recent conflicts in a peaceful and amicable way for both sides. We fought together and bled together in our struggle against the Burning Legion, working together to defeat them. It is my hope that we can apply that same spirit of cooperation to move forward in the world which Jeshua Lightborn has given back to us.”

 

Once more, Anduin looked stunned at the message he had been given as he thought through the implications of its brief contents. And then the last words in the message registered to his mind.

 

“Did she say, ‘the world which Jeshua Lightborn has given us”? He asked. “Jeshua Lightborn did this? All of this?”

 

“That is her belief, your majesty. As for my personal opinion, as you see me standing here whole and with living flesh, I have no doubts about it myself.” The messenger told him.

 

“You were… undead?” He asked, trying to be delicate.

 

“I and my entire people were until yesterday morning.” The messenger responded. “Yes, your majesty.”

 

Anduin’s mouth fell open. His advisors and courtiers within the throne room were speechless.

 

“Where is this Jeshua Lightborn now? I have heard such extraordinary things about him. I would very much like to meet him if it is possible.” Anduin then told him.

 

The messenger’s face then darkened a bit, and his eyes grew sad. “That touches the other part of my message to you, your majesty. Though my queen does not hold her former offer contingent on this, she respectfully requests the arrest and extradition of Genn Greymane for arranging the murder of Jeshua Lightborn.”

 

“Murder? Genn?” Anduin looked twice at the messenger and in disbelief both times. That was rich coming from the undead woman. But he held his tongue and answered instead, dismissively, “Lord Greymane has been in Stormwind this entire time.”

 

And then the man’s words hit him. “Jeshua Lightborn is dead?”

 

“I am sorry to say, yes, your majesty. He was murdered by Worgen in the ruins of Lordaeron night before last. My queen herself slew two of his murderers, but she believes that they had not acted without instructions from the Gilnean lord.” The messenger told him.

 

“I… I would need proof that Genn was responsible.” Anduin told him. “Surely, the Dark Lady doesn’t expect me to hand over a trusted friend without evidence, not to her.”

 

“No, your majesty, she doesn’t. She extends an invitation to you and any advisors you wish to meet her in neutral territory to discuss it. Her intent with this request is only that justice for Jeshua’s murder be rendered.” The messenger told him.

 

Anduin considered this. She should have known that their first response would have been to laugh at the “arrest warrant” as it was. There wasn’t a man or woman in Stormwind Keep that didn’t know the history between Greymane and she. The request, if legitimate, was however a perfectly reasonable one if what she said was true, and fell within the boundaries of known and respected law between the old human kingdoms. Sylvanas was going out of her way to follow old customs and civilized traditions. If it was a trick of some kind, it was an elaborate one.

 

“Take a message back to your queen. Tell her I welcome dialogue and diplomacy with the Horde, and look forward to speaking with her. As to her other request, tell her I will consider meeting with her to hear her case against Lord Greymane, but nothing more at present.” Anduin told him.

 

“Yes, your majesty.” The messenger told him, and then turned to leave the throne room.

 

“One more question, messenger.” Anduin then called him back, one other thing occurring to him.

 

“Your majesty?” The messenger asked him.

 

“The Dark Lady herself, was she also affected by… this?” He asked, gesturing to the man’s living human form.

 

A wide smile spread across the man’s face, “Oh yes, your majesty. We _all_ were. Where my queen is concerned, you will not find her so ‘dark’ a Lady now I think.”

 

* * *

 

In the Ruins of Lordaeron much later that night…

 

The entry courtyard was silent as midnight approached second by second. The air was cool, but not uncomfortable. Pleasant scents of the nearby trees and grasses wafted on gentle breezes. The stars shone brightly overhead in the clear night sky, the White Lady Elune already having set for the evening, and the whole expanse of the heavens could be seen clearly.

 

Six Deathguards formed a ring around the great stone block which had been placed over Jeshua’s grave. They had all been facing outwards, away from the grave as they protected it on their queen’s orders.

 

They didn’t notice it when midnight had passed them by.

 

Tiny cracks and fissures appeared around the stone block, slowly at first. They glowed with white light as they raced across the massive stone running from one end to the other.

 

_Crack!!_

 

The guards quickly turned around to see the stone block had fractured in several places, breaking apart as though invisible hands had been thrust into it and shoved the huge broken fragments to both sides of the grave, revealing the freshly laid dirt beneath.

 

Each of the human Deathguards drew their swords, and shields hastily came to their hands as they didn’t know what they would be facing.

 

“Alert the Queen!” The platoon commander yelled at his subordinate, and the lesser ranking man instinctively took off in the direction of the tunnels that led into the Undercity.

 

When he was out of sight, the soldiers formed ranks into a tight cluster, waiting to see what would happen, ready when it did.

 

And then the grave exploded outwards with  a column of pure  Light, and they were knocked back unconscious  to the ground from the force of it .

 


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

 

In the Ruins of Lordaeron…

 

Sylvanas had not been in the true Undercity when the guard rushed down the dark passageways to locate her. Instead she had been on the surface, unable to sleep, and not truly having any “bed” as it were of her own to sleep in if she could. It was something she hadn’t needed to think about as undead, though she would have to commission one eventually. So many things had happened in so short of a span of time that it had overwhelmed her.

 

She was alive. For the first time in decades, she was truly alive, and she didn’t want to squander a single breath, heartbeat, or moment of it. Her private chambers deep underground had felt dark, stuffy and confining, not meant for living flesh to inhabit. It was a place to rot and fester in old hurts, not a place to live a life in the light.

 

And they also felt empty without Nathanos.

 

She knew where he had gone, but there had been so much to arrange and organize in the two days after Jeshua’s “new dawn” as she began to think of the event. Reports from all over Azeroth had come to her from her own spies and Horde Chieftains. A constant stream of messengers was flowing from the orb of translocation between Silvermoon City and Lordaeron as Lor'themar continued to give her updates and frequent reports of the shocking numbers of Quel'dorei elves that had emerged from what had been the Ghostlands. The population of the elven nation had increased exponentially overnight.

 

Whole landscapes had changed in Kalimdor as well. Sauerfang had sent word of the blooming of Durotar's red deserts, and Baine Bloodhoof reported the greening of the Barren's savannahs. Only the Goblin trade prince, Gallywix, appeared to be complaining as the newly restored landscapes had ruined or destroyed machinery and some existing commercial ventures of his, including the Azerite mining which had been in progress in Silithus. The powerful mineral had mysteriously vanished in the wake of the New Dawn.

 

While there was no one that would have traded their newly found living flesh, it had come as a shock to their entire city, and further out, to their entire nation. She had to coordinate people and reassure them. She had to be the strong, stable guiding hand that led them through the sudden transformation. She also had to see to their practical needs and order more human suitable housing repaired and built on the surface of the city. Farm fields had to be cleared and replanted for food they could eat. Livestock had to be rounded up and tended. Towns and communities had to be seen to from Deathknell in the west all the way to Corrin’s Crossing in the east. Messages had to be sent to the Paladin lords of the Silver Hand to coordinate new supplies and materials for all the people who had wandered for decades as undead Scourge and had, like the Forsaken, found themselves freed, cleansed, and cured. She would not make the same grievous mistake the Alliance had with them. Tirisfal Glades could not, and would not abandon the eastern provinces of Lordaeron to their own devices. They were Lordaeron’s people just as much as those within the Forsaken’s own boundaries.

 

But she missed Nathanos who was also in the easternmost province. She had resolved to seek him out when everything had been set in motion that needed to be, and she didn’t need to be making immediate decisions for the welfare of the people she ruled. The truth was she wanted badly to go to him right away, but knew that her responsibility to her people who now had to be fed, housed, and cared for came first.

 

She had been watching the stars in the sky as she had walked through the quiet ruins. She had taken the respite from the reports and coordination for just a short time. It had been cooler that night, and her Ranger’s hood and cloak had been pulled tighter around her lithe, athletic frame as she walked. The stars had been a rare sight in Tirisfal Glades prior to the “new dawn”. In a way, without realizing it before then, she had missed the thousands upon thousands of points of lights spread across the sky and it filled her with a wonder and a sense of awe that took her breath away like it hadn’t in a long, long time. She wished Nathanos had been there to share it with her, and wondered if he was looking up at the stars as she was that night.

 

A great column of bright, radiant, light suddenly erupted from across the city and into the night sky like a goblin spotlight. She didn’t know what it was, but knew roughly where it had come from. Her feet began to move on their own accord, light and swift as she dashed towards the entry courtyard yet again.

 

When she reached it through the passageways and path of the ruins, she found the guards she had set over Jeshua’s grave lying on the ground. The stone block the abomination had set over the grave had been shattered into pieces and these shoved to either side of what was now a three foot deep, empty hole in the ground.

 

Jeshua’s body was gone.

 

She moved first to the guards and, remembering her field medic’s training as a Ranger a lifetime ago, she knelt on the ground and checked them for breathing and a pulse. They were still alive, but unconscious. They all looked to her trained, tracker’s eyes as if they had been standing near what had been the grave, and then had been blown several feet onto their backs hard onto the ground. They would live, though likely have severe head and back aches when they came to.

 

She then moved to the fresh hole in the ground and inspected it. The six foot long hole looked completely empty at first glance. What was more, it looked like it had erupted _from the inside out_. She knelt down on one knee to get a closer look for any further clues and spied a patch of off white cloth marked by bloodstains half buried by the loose dirt. She recognized it as the burial shroud she had ordered Jeshua’s body wrapped in.

 

She cleared the loose soil away from the shroud expecting to find at least part of his body as well. Pieces of human corpse didn't bother her, though she hesitated where Jeshua's body was concerned. But she had to know what had happened. Instead of finding mangled meat and bone, however, she pulled the edge of the burial shroud out of the dirt to find the complete cloth neatly folded.

 

“What happened here?” She asked aloud, confusion written all over her Quel'dorei features.

 

She unfolded the bloodstained cloth to inspect it as well, but when she did, her native elven night sight saw something else she couldn’t explain. An image of a beaten, bearded man had imprinted itself on the cloth, almost as if it had been burned into it. Even in the darkness of the night, she could tell it was Jeshua’s image which the cloth bore.

 

She stood up, still holding the blooded length of cloth, staring at the empty grave and the shattered weightstone trying to make sense of all of it. Behind her, the guards began to stir and move, groaning in pain, but picking themselves up off the ground, chainmail rattling against heavy plate breastplates and swords, regardless.

 

She turned to address them, urgency and authority in her voice, “Did you see what happened?”

 

“The stone block began to glow with light and then it just exploded on its own. We formed up not knowing what to expect. Then there was a bright flash of light, and… That’s all I remember, my queen.” The one guard who had risen to his feet first told her.

 

“Jeshua’s body is gone.” She told them, showing them his burial shroud.

 

Fear and uncertainty covered their faces.

 

“Who would do such a thing?” The Deathguard asked.

 

“I don’t know, but I want it found and returned for re-interment immediately, am I understood? If anyone is caught with it, arrest them and bring them before me. Kill them only if they resist. I want answers before corpses. Go.” She told them when they had all risen to their feet.

 

“Yes, my queen.” And the Deathguards went out into the rest of the city to alert the other patrols as to their new mission.

 

“Dammit.” She swore when she was alone, looking at the image of Jeshua again on the shroud. “I am sorry for this, Jeshua.” She said to it. “I’m sorry for all of it. You deserved better. When we recover your body, you’ll be interred properly with your ancestors in the mausoleum.”

 

The only candidates she could possibly see on the list of suspects had been the Worgen assassins who had done the deed. Those she had executed personally with her bow. She honestly couldn’t imagine who else in the city would even attempt such a thing given what the man had done for them all.

 

“My lady? Who are you looking for?” A man’s voice asked loud enough to be heard from across the otherwise quiet courtyard.

 

Sylvanas looked across the courtyard towards the main gates of the city itself. There, at a distance was a human man dressed in a long white robe. His face had been all but obscured by a large cowl which hid everything but his beard. It looked as if he had just entered the city that night.

 

“Jeshua’s body has been stolen, citizen.” Sylvanas replied in an authoritative manner to the man. “Someone broke into his grave using magic less than an hour ago and rendered my guards unconscious. Did you see anything?”

 

The man remained silent, and then began walking towards her. Sylvanas then let the shroud fall from her hands and drew her bow swiftly, nocking an arrow instinctively and aiming it for the man’s heart. “Stand where you are!” She ordered. “That’s far enough! Who are you? Do you know what happened to Jeshua Lightborn’s body?” Her voice was insistent and urgent, her bow and knocked arrow making a compelling argument to stand still and answer her questions.

 

The man stopped where he was. Then he slowly and deliberately raised his hands to his head. As he did so, the cuffs of his white robe fell down to his upper forearms to reveal huge wounds in his wrists that had been driven clean through them.

 

Sylvanas’ heart began pounding as her eyes fixed on the scarred wrists. She recognized them from when the abomination had pulled the heavy nails from the wooden door not far from where she now stood, arrow drawn.

 

The man drew back his cowl to reveal strawberry colored golden hair and beard surrounding sea green eyes and a generous, familiar smile. “Sylvanas.” He spoke her name as though asking the otherwise unspoken question, _Is the bow really necessary to greet an old friend?_

 

“Jeshua?” Sylvanas asked, not believing what her eyes were telling her. She relaxed the bow in her hands, and both bow and the arrow which had been nocked went with her hands down to her sides. She had seen risen undead more times than she could count. She had seen priests and even druids resurrect the dead within a certain amount of time.

 

But who had raised him? And after almost three days?

 

She returned her bow to its harness on her back, and the arrow to its quiver and approached closer to the man. His skin tone, even in the dim starlight was healthy, and there was a light and a laughter to his eyes that no undead could pretend no matter who it was.

 

“Jeshua, is it you?” She asked again. Her hand moved unconsciously to touch his face. He didn’t resist or draw back, but allowed it. His skin was warm to the touch. “You’re alive.” She declared, her voice becoming emotional, still trying to understand what had happened. “I saw you dead and buried. How is this possible?”

 

“No one can take my life unless I allow it, and if I give it up, it remains my choice to take it back again. Death holds no power which I have not given, Sylvanas. It never did, and it never will.” He told her. “I am resurrection itself. I am life itself. _I am_ _the Holy Light_.”

 

It was then that Sylvanas, looking into Jeshua’s eyes, began to understand the Being to whom she had been speaking. She then realized any weapon that could have been brought to bear against him was laughable, even death itself. Her bow, as faithful as it had been to her, felt a child’s toy and useless in his Presence.

 

“What now then, Jeshua?” She asked, realizing that if he had wanted her throne, there could be nothing she could possibly do to stop him. “Does your Kingdom of Light come now?”

 

“The Kingdom of Light isn’t confined by borders or walled cities, Sylvanas. It was never about a marble and gold throne or a political rule in this place.” He answered, gesturing dismissively in the direction of the throne room. “No one can say, ‘look, those are the boundaries of the Kingdom’, or ‘look there’s its capital!’ The Light seeks to reign within each mortal heart. The Kingdom of Light is eternal just as the Holy Light is eternal. Look around you, child!” He made a grand sweeping gesture including herself, the stars, and the renewed landscape of Tirisfal Glades. “The Kingdom is already here and now! It has already begun and it must continue to spread until all are brought into the Light’s embrace.”

 

“And will you be here to lead it?” She asked, her eyes searching, questioning.

 

Jeshua shook his head, “I have yet to return home. My sire has been calling me back. My work here like this, for now is almost done. I must speak with my brothers here in Lordaeron first, but before that, there is one more person I must speak with.”

 

He then asked her, “Would you do something for me? Would you ask my brothers and sister, those who were with me from the beginning, to meet me in the hills west of the city near the road to Silverpine in two days time?”

 

“I don’t know if they would believe me. I don’t know if they would believe any of this, especially coming from me.” She protested. “I don’t even know if I believe it!”

 

“I have faith in you, Sylvanas. Have faith now in my choice of messenger.” Jeshua replied with a smile. “Will you do this for me?”

 

Sylvanas thought quickly but then answered ultimately, “Yes...” And then she remembered the Being wrapped in Jeshua’s mortal frame that she was speaking to and added with a bow, “My lord.”

 

“One more thing,” he then said, “have mercy on Genn Greymane. I want you to show him the grace and forgiveness I have shown you.”

 

“Forgiveness?” She questioned, the word was still a new concept to her elvish mind.

 

“Your own evil acts are wiped clean, Sylvanas. You are forgiven and absolved of all you have done.” He then raised his wrists so that she could see them clearly. “You need fear true death no longer. I will be waiting for you to escort you into the Light when the time comes.”

 

Tears once more came to Sylvanas Windrunner’s eyes. “I’m free?” Her legs felt unsteady and her head light and dizzy.

 

“You are free.” He affirmed for her. “I only ask that you offer the same freedom to Genn. He has suffered much in this world. Partly by his own choices, partly by your hand as you know.”

 

“He ordered you tortured and murdered.” She said. “How can you forgive him?”

 

Jeshua held up his wrists once more for her to see, “In the same way I forgave you. Like this, Sylvanas. Like this. He is a man trapped in the hell of his own hatreds and anger just as you were. I would see him freed from that hell and brought into the Light as well. Bringing life to the undead was only the beginning. Bringing the Light to the living… that work is yet to fully begin.”

 

“That… does not come easily to me, Jeshua.” She told him.

 

“I did not expect that it would. Seek out my brothers and sister here in Lordaeron. They will be able to help in this endeavor.” He replied. “You don’t have to do this on your own. Seek me and you will find me. Remain in the Light, and I will be your path.”

 

Sylvanas then turned to face the steps that led further into the city where his followers could be found. She then asked, “Will I see you again?” Turning to face him once more.

 

But he had vanished, only the prints from his bare, human feet remaining in the soft ground where he had stood.

 

Wondering first if she had imagined the whole thing in her mind, she knelt down to inspect the fresh tracks he had left. They were real, and so had he been.

 

And he had asked her for a simple favor.

 

Sylvanas then left the courtyard and went to where she knew his followers had been taken under protective guard to rest and sleep.

 

* * *

 

In the trade district of Stormwind the next day…

 

Miriam Davidson had come with her husband into town that morning with their two sons and little daughter, Sarah. First they had visited Joseph’s aging parents, having a late breakfast with them in their row house in the city, before heading to the furniture shop that Joseph and his sons now ran.

 

Miriam had been preparing to take Sarah on her usual circuit of the city, away from the shop which could be crowded and noisy. They had been in the open customer’s area in front of the counter just about to leave. Miriam had been saying goodbye to her husband, purse in hand, when a strange, white robed customer entered the store. He wore a large cowl which partially obscured his features.

 

“Hello, friend.” Joseph told the man in a friendly voice.

 

The man drew back his cowl to reveal his face, and badly scarred wrists. “Mother, father?” He asked.

 

“Jeshua?!” Miriam exclaimed, dropping her purse in surprise. She covered her open mouth with her hands and began to weep.

 

“Jeshua?” Joseph also asked. “Is it really you?” His own voice became emotional at the sight of his long lost adopted son.

 

“It’s me.” Jeshua replied. “I’ve come to see you both one last time. I’ve come to tell you my work is done here, and it’s time for me to return to my sire.”

 

“I don’t understand.” Joseph told him, his own eyes tearing up. He moved to the man to embrace him as only a father can embrace his son. “I’ve missed you, son. I’ve missed you so terribly.”

 

Jeshua returned his embrace, but then told him, “Please don’t cling to me. My time here is growing shorter, and I cannot remain.”

 

“We were told you were dead!” Miriam exclaimed through tear filled eyes. “Those people from the Keep! They told us you had died!”

 

Jeshua showed them his wrists again, “I was, mother, but no longer. And because I live, you also will live. You, and father, and my brothers and sister. What I have done, I have done for you all. And now I have to go.”

 

“Wait! Where are you going? You’ve only just come back to us!” Joseph protested. “I don’t understand.”

 

“The Kingdom of Light has begun. I am going back to my sire, but look for my followers and emissaries. They are in Lordaeron now, but soon I will send them to the uttermost parts of Azeroth, and they will come here as well.” He told them. “You will know me through them.”

 

“Please don’t leave us again!” Miriam cried out. “Please, Jeshua!”

 

“I will never abandon you or anyone in this world ever again. I will come to you, I promise. Seek my followers. I will explain everything through them.” He told them both.

 

Miriam closed her eyes tightly, trying and failing to hold back her tears. But when she opened them again, he was gone. Vanished as though absorbed by the sunlight streaking through the open door.

 

* * *

 

In the hills west of the city of Lordaeron the following day…

 

Jeshua’s emissaries gathered at the top of the rocky hill on the other side of the highway overlooking the city as the queen had told them. The sky was filled with sunshine and only a few light clouds dotted the otherwise beautiful day. The eight of them had been joined by the Mage, Philip, and his wife Alicia whom Jeshua had raised from the dead at Darrowshire.

 

And they were not alone.

 

Having seen the emissaries, who were well known in the city by the people, departing from the ruins, several people began to follow to see where they were all going. More and more joined them until a large crowd of hundreds of people gathered nearby and waited, though none of them knew what for.

 

Jim watched the crowd gather at a distance as he stood there with the group of people who had become a real family to him, brought together from several different races and backgrounds. They stood together waiting on the hilltop, the message to come here as unbelievable as everything else associated with “the Captain.” They had been waiting for word on something, anything from the queen for almost three days. Prisoners in an apartment for their own good, their every need provided for, but prisoners nonetheless. He remembered when the queen herself stepped into the small dwelling to deliver the message she had been given.

 

“What did you say?” That had been Jim’s first response to the queen when she came herself, sent like a messenger girl. She had handed him Jeshua’s folded burial shroud, the ghostly imprint of his image still on it.

 

“The grave is empty. I saw him alive and warm to the touch. He is risen.” Three sentences which shook the small room when she entered and spoke them to his followers.

 

“How could you do that to him?” Mathaios had asked in horror, misunderstanding what she meant. “After everything he has done for all of us, my queen. How could you...” He had trailed off.

 

“How could I--” Sylvanas looked unusually horrified herself when she realized what he was accusing her off. “I didn’t do anything! The val’kyr have all disappeared since the new dawn! He did this himself! He wasn’t undead! He had living, warm flesh. I touched it! I saw the nail marks in his wrists. He told me to come and tell you! He wants you all to meet him on the hill west of the road to Silverpine day after tomorrow!”

 

“He said he would.” Peter then spoke up. He wasn’t a man who wasted words, and often remained silent, letting others do the talking. But now it seemed to him everyone present had forgotten what the teacher had told them in Hearthglen. “None of you remember, do you? When he told us he was going to die here, he told us he would also rise from the dead on the third day. He didn’t say anyone would do it for him. He said he would. I don’t know about any of the rest of you, but I believe the lady.” He nodded towards Sylvanas. “Jeshua said it would happen, and it did.”

 

Jim held Jeshua’s blood stained burial shroud in his hands tightly, just staring at it. For nearly three days he had been in misery, even after the miracle which he had heard occurred around their world. The man he had sworn to himself to keep safe had died on his watch and he hadn’t been able do anything about it but run and hide like a coward.

 

“He’s alive?” Jim then asked. “It was really him?”

 

“Yes.” The queen replied, and then she turned towards the door to leave. “I did what he asked, and now I must go. You are all free to do as you will. I have other business to attend to.”

 

“Thank you for telling us... your majesty.” Mathaios then told her, his tone of voice apologetic.

 

She nodded silently in reply, and then had left, dismissing the guards who had watched over them as she did.

 

“He’s risen.” Jim then said, still staring at the shroud, his eyes misting over.

 

“He’s risen, Jim.” Mathaios stood up from where he sat and came to stand next to the older man, putting his hand on his shoulder, and then slipping his arm across his shoulders, joining him. Then Peter joined him as well, repeating the words. And then Amerian, Syloren, Andrew, Vasuuvata, Thaddeus, Philip, and Alicia until they all formed a tight circle around the folded shroud in Jim’s hands.

 

“He’s risen.” Jim repeated the words as he stood on the hill with the others, the shroud still in his hands, and waited.

 

“It’s okay, Jim. Don’t be afraid.” He suddenly heard a voice behind him.

 

Jim spun around at the voice and found himself face to face with the man he had called, “Captain”.

 

“Captain?!” Jim’s eyes went wide with shock.

 

When the others heard Jim, they came running over.

 

“It’s me, Jim.” He told him again, and then raised his eyes towards the others who had then seen him standing next to the old sailor.

 

Jim then threw his arms around the man and embraced him tightly, his eyes wet with tears as he began sobbing. “I’m so, so sorry, Captain…” The older man said as he cried, holding him. “I ran, just like ye said I would. I ran and hid like some damn coward...”

 

Jeshua just held him as he cried on his shoulder for several minutes. When the old sailor had recovered himself somewhat, the younger man stepped back a bit from him and put his hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eyes. “It had to happen, my friend. There’s nothing you could have, or should have done to prevent it, do you understand?”

 

“I...” Jim didn’t know how to answer him.

 

“Do you love me, Jim?” Jeshua then asked him point blank.

 

“I… Yes, of course I do, Captain! You know I do! I wouldn’t be blubberin’ like a baby right now if I didn’t!” Jim told him in response.

 

Jeshua then gently turned him to look at his other followers, and the mass of people beyond. “Then take care of them for me. They’re going to be sheep that need a shepherd to help guide them in the Light. My sire is calling me home now. I want you to be that shepherd until they’re strong enough to guide others.”

 

Jim looked at the men and women who had followed Jeshua with him, knowing that they had heard every word. “I ain’t no Captain, Captain.” He said humbly, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “But I’ll do my best to hold the wheel for ye.”

 

Jeshua smiled and squeezed his shoulder in response. “That’s all I’m asking, Jim. Keep the ship steady and on course.”

 

“I… I think I can do that, Captain.” Jim told him.

 

Jeshua then told them all loudly so that the crowds behind them could hear, “Go into all of Azeroth, tell them what you have seen and heard from me! Preach this good news that the Holy Light has redeemed this world! Tell them the Kingdom of Light has come! Teach them everything I have taught you! The Holy Light will never leave you or forsake you!” And then quieter to his followers standing directly in front of him, “I will never leave you or forsake you. You saw what I did with the wine and the cup. I grant all of you the power to change it. Take my blood into the entire world and bring more into my Light, beginning here in Lordaeron, then into Tirisfal Glades, go up into Quel’Thalas, and then into the far corners of Azeroth. Forbid no one from coming to me no matter who they are, forgive all in my name no matter what they’ve done, have compassion for everyone. I won’t be gone forever.”

 

And then Jeshua stepped back from them and his white robes began to shine with Holy Light. “I am with you always.” He said one last time.

 

The light surrounding him intensified and he then began to rise into the air, ascending higher and higher as the Holy Light radiating off of him grew brighter and brighter to outshine the sun itself. And then there was a great explosion of golden light which raced across the sky in all directions.

 

And Jeshua Lightborn was gone.

 

* * *

 

In eastern Lordaeron, at the Marris Farmstead, not far from Darrowshire…

 

Nathanos Marris had been working on the side of his old ruined house that had stood empty for far too long. The day was beautiful, but warm and he had stripped off his shirt so that his sweating, muscular chest was bare, a smattering of light brown hair gracing it as he hammered nails into the new boards he had cut from fresh, new trees nearby.

 

Not far from him, two gray and tan mastiff hunting hounds lay, relaxed and panting as they watched their master work, driving nails into the wood.

 

He had made a fair bit of progress on the old house since he had returned. Memories, good memories of his childhood ran through his mind as he had worked. Memories also of the last time Sylvanas and he had been alive here had also imposed themselves upon his mind and heart, and made the latter hurt.

 

He hadn’t gone back to the Undercity after he had left Hearthglen. Instead, he had taken the road east just as Jeshua had told him to. He had gone home, hoping she would come for him as she had before. But that had been weeks ago, and still she hadn’t come.

 

He woke up just after dawn days before to find the whole world transformed overnight, just as everyone else had. His two hunting dogs had been little more than bones and dried skin in the yard out front when he had arrived at his family’s old house. After that fateful sunrise, they had come running into the house to greet him as though no time had passed at all, and he had been surprised at his own tearful reaction when they came, nearly breaking down on the floor. They had been faithful friends once upon a time before the Scourge.

 

He pounded two more nails into the wood to secure it before moving on. And then he heard the tell tale clip clop sound of horse’s hooves coming up the long dirt path which led to the main highway. Instinctively, he froze where he was, then slowly set down his hammer and picked up his other faithful friend, the Ranger’s bow which had served him in both life and death, and nocked an arrow as a precaution, though did not draw it as he silently stepped lightly around the side of the house and looked out to see who his new visitor was. There was only one horse he could hear.

 

He looked out to the front of his yard to see who was dismounting from the animal, and then his bow and arrow fell from his hands and his booted feet ran of their own accord towards her before he could process the thought.

 

She drew back the purple hood she wore, her long tapered elven ears extending out from the sides of her platinum blond hair and looked towards the house with her deep blue, mana tinged eyes. Her flawless skin was a healthy, pinkish white. And then her eyes saw him running towards her, and her own feet began moving.

 

“Nathanos!” She called out.

 

“Sylvanas!” He returned.

 

And they slammed into each other with a tight embrace, their lips meeting passionately and hungrily.

 

“You came for me.” He whispered as he kissed her and held her.

 

“I will always come back for you, Nathanos.” She returned. “I love you.”

 

On impulse, Nathanos then grabbed her and lifted her up into his strong arms. She laughed a musical, joyous laugh shouting, “Don’t drop me!”

 

“I’m never going to let you go again.” He responded. “I love you, Sylvanas Windrunner. I always have, and I always will.”

 

And they were happy, and the Light smiled on them both.

 

* * *

In the ruins of Lordaeron some time later…

 

Amerian the scribe sat at a writing desk in the cloister apartment he now occupied in the Cathedral’s living quarters along with his fellow emissaries. The residences had formerly belonged to the bishops and priests who had served and ministered to the royal family and the people. Sylvanas had ordered them cleaned and restored to be occupied in perpetuity by Jeshua’s followers for as long as they were needed.

 

A light piece of parchment sat in front of him as he scratched out words on it with his pen and ink. He had decided that the best way for him with his skills to carry out Jeshua’s last instructions was to write down everything Jeshua had said and done while he was with them in the Common language, as much as he could remember anyways. But being a scribe, he couldn’t resist adding what he considered to be an appropriate prologue:

 

“What I have seen with my own eyes, what I have touched with my own hands, and heard with my own ears concerning Jeshua Lightborn, the one who redeemed Azeroth from darkness and death, I am writing to you now. At the very beginning was the Message, and the Message was with the Holy Light, and the Message was the Holy Light. And the Message took mortal form and lived among us as a human man, and we saw the Light’s glory through him.”

 

 _Yes,_ He thought to himself, _That will do nicely._

 

The End

 


End file.
